The Untold Story
by NoClueKid
Summary: A look into the backstory of Gellert Grindelwald, centering around his two months with Albus Dumbledore. Insight into how the two boys grew into men, and how the men grew into legends. Who and what were they, before fate had its way with them?
1. Chapter 1

Over a century ago in the outlying provinces of Prussia, poverty and ignorance ran rampant. As did superstition, though perhaps a more optimistic word for it would be 'faith'. When one's only education is at the altar, every noise in the night is a demon, every storm God's vengeful rage.

What would become, then, of a child with magic in their blood? A full-grown witch or wizard would know to keep their secrets, and even facing accusations could defend themselves if need be. An untrained youth, however, would be defenseless. They don't know what they are, how would they know to hide?

People never tire of seeing demons and malevolent spirits in their children - call it changelings, the evil eye, or even the devil himself. More often than not, any 'evil' in a child might be nothing more than a troubled phase, a naughty habit or even an undiagnosed illness.

Every once in a while, it is something more.

.

"What've we got, Weiss?" Asked Pavel Sorokin, as he and his partner set out for a field assignment.

"Demonic possession, they say." Replied Albrecht Weiss. "The stories are impressive: levitation, illumination, combustion, even minor transfiguration."

"Stories are always very much exaggerated. Like as not you've got a bunch of spooked muggles with a kid going through a naughty phase, and they've chalked it up to the influence of _Satan_ or whatever they call it. Seen it a hundred times."

"If the child in question was going through a naughty phase, as you call it, I doubt they will be anymore." Weiss said, giving his head a mournful shake. "They're scared shitless at the thought of those evil gods they dream up. I hate to think of what they've done to the poor child."

"It's not our job to provide child care for muggles. Just get in, see for ourselves what's going on, and report back to our superiors that I've been right all along: it's not magic, and not any of our business."

"Alright, alright. Whatever you say, Sorokin. I assume you at least have the portkey?"

"Got it right here I do. Now let's get this over with. My wife's cooking goulash tonight and I want to be home while it's still warm."

Their destination was an old church miles from the nearest village, which was hardly more than a wide spot in the road in and of itself. The exterior was picturesque; a white plaster building with a shingled roof. In the back there was an orchard, and a few yards away there was a squat, mossy well.

The only thing that was amiss about the place was the heavy silence, not broken by a single bird. Perhaps it was for that reason that both of them felt a suddenly ill at ease.

Neither of them drew their wands, not liking to show they were spooked by such a little thing.

Once they pushed back the heavy doors, however, the wands came out immediately.

Sunlight slanted down from high windows, casting the scene in a soft, terrible radiance. Blood had been splattered and sprayed over the once-white walls and ceiling. The bodies of what looked like five to seven people (the carnage was such that it was impossible to say exactly how many) lay ravaged on the floor. A few of their hands still clutched rosaries or Bibles.

The air itself in the room was frigid, causing their breath to rise in pale clouds before their faces. It was in this way only that they discovered another living creature in the midst of the mutilation.

At the far end of the chamber was a slightly raised dais. Upon it was an altar, and upon the altar there was a child, bound at his wrists and ankles. His hair gleamed gold in the midday sunlight, his skin strikingly pale against the blood. They both knew without saying that they had found the child who was at the center of the stories. Stories which, they realized with dread, had not been exaggerated in the slightest.

"Do you think he's alive?" Weiss asked, after a moment of long, heavy silence punctuated only by their breath and racing hearts.

"Look's like he's breathing…" Answered Sorokin. In his unspoken opinion, the child looked at though he didn't have long even if he was breathing. As they approached, taking pains not to slip on blood on tread on bodies, bloody lacerations were visible on the boy's back. Whip marks.

When Weiss saw this, he made a small, anguished noise of distress and rushed to the child's side. Sorokin opened his mouth to caution his partner, but it was too late. As soon as Weiss's hands touched the bindings, the boy's eyes shot open. What color they were could not be told, for the pupils were dilated so far as to make his eyes appear black. They told Weiss that he was going to die, even before the pain began.

Sorokin only saw the child's eyes snap back to life, and then Weiss was doubling over, screaming. Blood was running from his mouth, his eyes and nose and ears. Lacerations blossomed on his flesh like stigmata. He was being torn apart, inside and out. Sorokin knew that his partner was going the same way as the dead muggles in the church, and he wasn't thinking about his wife's goulash any longer.

He raised his wand and took aim at the child.

.

.

.

Approximately ten years later:

A bad Monday morning was made worse for Sorokin when an aid approached him as he made his way to his office.

"Excuse me, sir? Ah, Gellert Grindelwald is waiting in your office."

"What? He should be in school."

"That's, well…" the aide fidgeted nervously. " It seemed he's been expelled from Durmstrang."

"Expelled? Why?"

"Attacks on other students, the report said."

Sorokin stopped dead in his tracks. "Any dead?"

"No sir, though they were in severe states of injury."

Sorokin swore under his breath and redoubled his pace, all but running to his office. When he got there, the scene he met did nothing to improve his mood. His classified and supposedly secure documents had been strewn around haphazardly, turning his hitherto neat office into a cluttered mess.

In the center of the mess, perched casually on his desk like a large golden bird was Grindelwald, legs crossed and face obscured by one of Sorokin's 'classified' case reports.

"You're filing system is terrible." He said, without looking up when Sorokin walked in. "I don't know how you manage to find anything at all."

"Put those things back this instant!"

"No, I don't think I will, thanks." He lowered the paper, meeting Sorokin's eyes. "It's only my own file. I think I've a right to know where I came from."

"That's not for you to decide!"

"Yet I still have the folder, don't I?" He said, brandishing it slightly as though teasing a dog.

Sorokin swallowed an enraged rant. This was not what he came here for, he reminded himself.

"They say you've been expelled." He tried, changing tactics. Try and get the little menace on the defensive.

"They say rightly then." He cocked his blonde head. "What's your point?"

"I – you – how can you take it so lightly?"

"Because I don't care. School was boring anyway."

"Maybe if you paid attention and kept your marks up, you would find something to interest you." Sorokin said through clenched teeth. They had had this conversation before.

"I don't pay attention _because_ there's nothing to interest me." He raised the case report again. "I don't feel like this discussing this with you. I was tired of school, I got out, and that's less money on your wizard government's part and more freedom on mine. Case closed."

"How dare you disrespect me this way? After everything I've done for you, looking after you all these years, seeing that you were fed, cared for, educated, and to have you throw it all away _because you were tired of it?_"

"Spare me the long-suffering rant. You don't give a damn about me." Gellert's tone was still calm, though his eyes were cold. "You're only trying to assuage your own guilt. If not for your callous indifference, I might've been discovered before the priests decided I was evil incarnate, and then your friend Weiss would not have died. Looking after me is no more than a ploy to appease your own conscience."

Sorokin sputtered in inexpressible rage. "I've told you to stay out of my head!"

"You make it so easy, though. You really ought to take lessons; your mind is like an open book. In any case, I've decide to stay with my great aunt in England. We've corresponded for several years now, and she's expressed that she is willing to take me."

"You will not go to England or anywhere else!"

"Try and stop me, why don't you?"

Sorokin did nothing.

Gellert smiled, and it was cruel. "Ah, but you're not foolish enough for that. You saw what I could do to an adult wizard when I was _six years old_, and you're not in a hurry to piss me off."

"How can you speak of it so lightly? You took lives –"

"Lives of backwards creations with no moral objections to killing children for the sake of their faith!" He was as angry as he had been detached a moment ago, and the change was disturbing. The temperature in the room plummeted, and a sparking sheen of frost appeared on the windows.

"Do you think I was the first, Sorokin?" He continued. "The first child that they took to beat and starve and leave in the dark to repent, to drive the Devil out of them? If there is one thing in my life that I am proud of, it is what I did to them, and the world is a better place for it!"

"And what of Albrecht Weiss? Is his death another badge of honor in your collection?"

"If you two would've pulled your heads out of your asses long enough to see the fucking sunlight, it might never have gone that far! You might have helped me! You might've saved many _before_ me, but no! Why should such fine, upstanding wizards such as yourselves be troubled with the fate of simple muggle children? Not when you have your own world to hide in, your _own _kind to protect!"

A shadow seemed to come across the sun, and their breath was coming in frosty clouds. Sorokin retreated until he was backed against the wall. He was reliving his nightmare of nine years ago, but he knew this time his wand, a quick stunning spell, would not help him. Grindelwald was no child anymore.

"Still." He said, calming a bit, though the darkness did not disperse, nor the cold dissipate. "For myself I hold no grudge. Really I ought to thank the both of you for being such incompetent idiots on the job. If I'd never been broken, I never would have learned just what I was capable of." His smile was as icy as the air.

"You've become a monster, Gellert." Sorokin said, eyes closed and face pale.

"If I am, it's the monster you let me become. You and your _perfect_ wizard society." His voice was quiet and calm once again. He slid from the desk and stood, case file still secure in his hand. "Do you still intend to keep me from traveling where I will?"

"The farther you go, the better." Sorokin said in a slightly chocked voice. "And good riddance."

"Aw, I'll miss you too, Sorokin. But don't believe you've heard the last of me."

He let the door slam behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Some days later:

If the village had grown over the years, it still seemed diminished to Gellert. Things were very different at seventeen than at six. As he made his way up the overgrown dirt road and past the small, crumbling houses, he felt as old as the very hills. An wanderer from another world, returning to the ruins of a life long gone.

He didn't know why he had come back here, to the village of his birth. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity, now that he had his case file and the information on where he had come from. It made sense though, in a way. He couldn't go back to school, couldn't go back to Sorokin. So that left him…this. His _home_. He could have laughed – or maybe cried – at the thought.

How could people live their lives out here, he wondered, in a place so big and yet so small at once? Moreover, how could _he _have lived, confined to the same four walls, the same few faces, food, routines, habits and beliefs all his life? It didn't bear imagining, just thinking about it made him feel frantic; trapped.

He reached his destination easily, even after all those years. The house seemed smaller as well, weathered as the rocks around it. It had been packed to the brim and full of noise once, though now it was dark and empty. He could hear the sound of the wind whistling through cracks in the walls.

He could have opened the lock by magic if need be, but the door stood open as it was, it's hinges sagging and rusted. He paused on the threshold, contemplating going back. It surely didn't seem as though anyone lived here anymore. But just then, a voice as old and weathered as the house called out,

"Who's that? What do you want?"

The voice made him jump in spite of himself. He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, and just to prove that he wasn't afraid, stepped inside.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust, and when they did he almost wished they hadn't. There in the corner sat an old man on rickety chair. He was bent and gray, with a straggly beard obscuring most of his face. Gellert could remember, though, a time when the grey hair had been as golden as his own was now, although even back then there had not been much family resemblance.

"…I wanted a word, is all."

The old man craned his head, willing his failing eyes to place the strange voice.

"Who are you?"

"I'm…just a traveler, out seeing the world."

"I'll thank you to go see the world outside my house."

"Do you live here all alone then? You…that is, I've heard that you had children once, four of them."

"What difference does it make to you?"

"It does. Please, won't you tell me what happened to them?"

"They're dead. That's the end of the story."

"What –" he swallowed. "What if it was not?" He took a step closer, and the old man looked at him again. Slowly, he raised a gnarled hand.

"Come closer, boy. Let me see your face."

He did so, slowly, kneeling in front of his father's chair so that their faces were almost on a level, the fair-faced youth and the old man, withered before his time. A moment passed in utter silence. Then the man turned away.

"Be gone from my house."

"Don't you know me?" Gellert said, rising to his feet. "I am your son, that they took ten years ago –"

"You are not my child!" The man wheezed, unable to shout. "You're the devil's son! God should've taken you years ago like he has taken all your siblings; until now I thought he had!"

"There is no God in what happened to me!" He shouted, losing his temper at last. "If God exists, he is not to be found here, and you are so blind you could not see him if he was!" He turned to go, but paused in the doorway.

"I respected you once. I may have even loved you. If there was any love left in me for you now, I should kill you out of kindness." He closed his eyes. "You let them take your own children to be murdered in the name of God. You deserve this fate, to rot in this wasteland you pathetic, wretched fool! Goodbye, _father_."

.

The only thing in the town that had grown noticeably was the graveyard, and that was where the night found him.

Half the people he remembered from his childhood rested there. He found his mother's grave, his brother's, his two sisters and finally…his own. Everyone must have believed, as his father did, that he had died in the church nine years ago.

There was no name on the tombstone, just number scratched into the rough slab of rock: the date of his birth and, supposedly, his death. The pitiful life of a six year old boy, murdered by the cruel perversity of faith. No one to tell his story, or even remember his name.

He fell to his knees with a strangled cry, beating the hard, bare dirt with his fists as though it were accountable. He sobbed wildly, like the child he had supposedly died as, with only the cold wasteland emptiness to hear him. He cried for his siblings, his mother, every person that he knew or had never known who rested there. And he cried for himself, because part of him _had_ died there, even if his body did not rest in the soil.

His outburst left him curled over his own empty grave; the night swallowed him, and for a while he thought nothing at all.

Finally, after the darkness had washed over him and the night's chill had settled in his bones, freezing the tears on his face, he stirred. Turned on his back to gaze up at the sky. The stars greeted him, their cold light matching his own. He was calm now, in the wake of his breakdown. Cool and distant as the stars.

He had found beauty in that desolate place once. That was how magic had started for him. Animals had wisdom that made all humans seem silly, trees had an inner goodness that would put the most pious man to shame, and when one listened and looked right, they had light and music. It had resonated with him, _in_ him, and through it he'd found magic in himself as well.

But then his father saw, and the priest heard, and then he was taken…. And they had succeeded in 'exorcising' him, at least in part. Magic he still might be, and yet it was different, _twisted_, after what they had done. They had broken whatever native beauty had resided in him, had perverted it. Taken his innocence and replace it with their own tainted evil.

And yet…if part of him was dead, it still said nothing of all the people in the village who were as dead while they walked the earth as when they rested beneath it. Why should he kill his father when he was as rotten and withered as any corpse, both in body and in mind? That was why, even after everything, he could not blame the man. Not when he saw the shape his life had taken, wasting all his life out there in the desolation of mind and spirit.

He could have turned out just the same, in his father's place. He would have, if fate had been a little different. He always assumed that his magic came from his long-dead mother. He had looked like her, and he had attributed his inner structure, just like his outer one, to her. But now, when he had seen this hell for himself with adult eyes…what if his father had possessed magic? Such a hard, barren life may have withered the magic in his father – Gellert knew with a terrifying certainty that it would have for him, if he had stayed.

No one really knew from where magic came. It could even be that everyone had it, down deep in their core. Perhaps some people, like his father, had simply never found it, and were cut off from it by the cruelty of their life. They would like vagabonds within themselves, never able to come home.

_Why?_ The one word formed out of the vast ocean of despair and loneliness. _Why should things have to be this way? _

The reason _why_ was that wizard society was separate from muggle society. The wizard governments across the world were pretty good at identifying magic-born children early on and providing them with the necessary protection and education. However, there would always be some who were left unnoticed, a few children who fell through the cracks. Maybe some would say such a small number of children didn't matter. But it mattered very much to _him_. Not even one child should have to go through what he had, if it could in any way be prevented.

And non-magic people…surely they, too, deserved more than _this, _the miserable little town, this crumbling graveyard…

He knew the 'reasons' behind segregating wizard society from the muggle world, although the so-called logic behind those reasons was so weak as to be laughable. 'Everyone would want magical solutions for their problems'? Well, what was so wrong with that? A fortune could be made off such an exchange. What muggle wouldn't pay for a magical cure to, say, an otherwise terminal disease? And what capable wizard would deny them that? Such spells weren't so difficult to master.

The result of intermingling would be beneficial to both groups: a booming economy for the wizarding population, and a general improvement in the quality and length of life in the muggle one.

But _no_. For some reason the wizard governments wouldn't even consider living openly with muggles.

The real reason, Gellert suspected, was that they just plain liked their isolation. They didn't want to _bother_ dealing with _stupid_, boring muggles every day, better just to live apart from them. Never mind that muggles died for want of magic that could easily save them, or the fate of wizard children who were the victims of deadly ignorance and superstition. As long as the people in charge could live their privileged lives of magical convenience and comfort, who _cared _if there were a few million more deaths than need be each year? What were they to do about it?

Of course, most wizards lived their secret lives simply because that was what they had always done. But traditions were only as good as the good that they did, and what was the real benefit of wizards living in secret? Nothing. Nothing at all. People were either too dense to realize that, or too lazy to change things.

Gellert didn't like where this was going. Secrecy was the golden rule of every witch and wizard's life, the very foundation of magical society. Yet if you espoused an idea that something ought to be done, then logically you ought to do something. And, seeing as he didn't exactly have an army as his beck and call, it seemed like he was setting quite the tall task for himself…

He groaned out loud, burying his face in his hands. Ambition was an admirable trait to be sure, but set out to rebuild the underpinnings of every wizard government _everywhere?_ In the name of all things sacred, that was just too much for one person! And he'd never been quite the type to attract millions to his cause. He could charm people for a while, but eventually the façade became too much to bear and, like in the case of Sorokin, his true feelings came to light in the end.

Still, he'd have to become quite the people person if he was going to accomplish something so big. Either that or become the single most powerful wizard ever to walk the earth, someone downright invincible –

His train of thought, as it were, stopped dead in its tracks.

He'd always liked stories of the Deathly Hallows – sort of the wizarding equivalent of the Holy Grail. He listened to the legends as a sort of hobby, collecting information on them in his free time. He did believe the Hallows existed, unlike some who claimed they were simply legends. But it was still just a flight of fancy for him. He'd never felt the need, like some wizards of yore, to actually go searching for them. He was a magical prodigy as it was, and he didn't feel the need to augment his powers further. At least, not until that moment.

But if he was going to realize his goal, the Hallows were all he would need. Forget followers, forget a lifetime of negotiation and policy drafting and cutting through bureaucratic red tape. If he had the Hallows, wizarding governments would be _made_ to embrace his ideals.

Hunting down Hallows was a daunting task, to be sure, yet not so daunting as taking on the entire wizarding world alone, without support or aid. He stood, energized by his dream. His goals were lofty, yes, and the power of the Deathly Hallows was just the stepping stone he needed to reach them. They _did _exist, and he would scour the whole world if need be.

He turned back to his grave, and with a few words and a wave of his wand, flowers shot forth from the soil. Their bright, myriad colors rose in opposition to the cold austerity around them. It was an act of defiance, a declaration of war against his fate. Let them forget his name, he would show them. He would avenge _himself_, his siblings, his mother; everyone who lay there, forgotten. Every child, magic or muggle, who had met such a cruel, undeserved end.


	3. Chapter 3

Several days later, somewhere in Brittan:

"Hey Albus! There's a dead body over here!"

"What?" Just what the Dumbledore family needed, another dead body.

As Albus rushed over to where his brother stood, the scene he met promised to be yet another headache. Aberforth and his pack of friends had congregated around the prone form of a person whom Albus had never seen in the village before. That in itself was strange enough, you didn't get many strangers in a community so small. He knelt down beside the new arrival, scrutinizing him more closely. He was bleeding from his nose and ears, but he _was_ breathing, that much was plain from up close. From the look of his clothes, it was obvious he was a wizard. And he was…beautiful, Albus realized, with golden hair and very fair skin. He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking that, especially not at the moment…

He returned his thoughts back on the scene in front of him and scanned the area, searching for any clue as to who the stranger was and how he had gotten there. Sure enough, over a yard or so away there was an odd looking piece of rubbish. A battered cardboard box, with writing on it that looked like German…

"Stand back, all of you." Albus said, getting to his feet. "It looks like he's had some trouble with a bad portkey, is all."

It would have been easy enough to levitate both the stranger and the defective portkey inside. But, of course, to do so would be risking muggle witnesses, and criminal charges from the Ministry were just what he did not need right then. So, it would have to be the old fashion way…

He bent down again and lifted the stranger off the ground. He wasn't very heavy, at least.

"Aberforth, go into the house, put on a thick pair of gloves, and put that box in my room. It's a portkey, I think, so anyone who touches it'll probably be transported to somewhere in Europe, and with a nasty case of teleportation sickness to boot."

His brother, showing his usual regard for caution, simply slipped his sleeves over his hands and picked up the box. Meaning only a thin layer of fabric was separating him from being teleported instantly to who-knows-where. Albus gritted his teeth over a reprimand. Maybe teleporting Aberforth someplace far away wasn't such a bad –

_Stop it. He's your brother._ His better sense chastised him.

"What's teleportation sickness anyway?" Aberforth asked as he walked with Albus into the house. "I've taken a portkey plenty of times, and I've never keeled over dead."

"He's not dead." Albus said as they began to climb the stairs. "And the portkey trips you've taken were all within Britain, so you weren't dealing with any great changes in elevation or orbital velocity."

"English, please?"

"Wherever he came from, it was probably at a lot higher elevation than here. And it was probably far enough away that that part of the earth was orbiting the axis at a different rate."

"Orbiting the what?"

"You know how when a record spins, any given point near the center doesn't revolve at the same rate as a given point on the edge? Even though they're connected, the point on the edge has to complete a much bigger circle in the time it takes for the record to spin."

"Alright…"

"It's the same way for the earth." Albus nudged his bedroom door open with his shoulder and dropped the stranger's dead weight on his bed. "Regions near the poles spin at a different rate than equatorial latitudes, because –"

"You know what, forget I asked!" Aberforth said, setting down the box on his brother's desk and walking briskly away. "You and your muggle studies." He muttered as he disappeared down the hall.

"It's like we're speaking a different language." Albus said to the comatose stranger.

Portkey sickness didn't usually trouble people, even when they traveled long distances. There were typically spells put in place to protect the travelers from the effects of moving so far so fast. Albus suspected that this particular portkey was obtained off the black market or some other disreputable source, and therefore not subject to the same tests of quality as government-regulated portkeys were.

Wizard governments monitored portkey activity very closely, especially when people were traveling to another country. It could take months of delays while the bureaucrats sorted everything out, and important documents got lost in transit between one country's government and the other. This newcomer had probably tried to bypass all that, with unfortunate results.

But such things could be remedied, and Albus knew he had the ingredients for the requisite potion somewhere…

About half an hour later:

As the potion brewed, he busied himself with washing the blood off the stranger's face. He was struck again by how attractive the person was. His features were very fine, almost girlish in appearance, with full lips and long eyelashes. He found himself wondering what color his eyes would be, when opened…

Suddenly, he became uncomfortably aware of how this must look: him, leaning down over some unconscious beauty _in his bed_.

He stood and strode briskly across his room to where the curative potion brewed and where the bad portkey lay. He would have to disenchant it, but first things first. Carefully, he ladled the inky, blue-black potion into a beaker and approached his bed again.

"Ironic." He said, regarding his sleeping patient. "You're the best company I've had in weeks, and you're not conscious."

He leaned over and gingerly tipped some of the beaker's contents into his patient's mouth.

Albus did get a chance to see the color of his eyes then (light brown), but not before the newly conscious stranger shoved his arm away, sending the vial flying and smashing on the floor, spilling potion everywhere.

The stranger scrambled to get away, falling off the far side of Abus's bed. He attempted to stand, but Albus knew the teleportation sickness would have left him in no condition to walk, and sure enough he ended back on the floor again, with his back against the wall like a cornered rabbit. It might have been amusing, had he not been so clearly afraid. Albus held up his hands in (what he hoped was) an international signal for _I'm-not-going-to-hurt-you_.

"It's alright." He said, hoping that the stranger spoke English.

Apparently he did, for he seemed to relax slightly at that, and some of the fear left his eyes, though he still looked far from calm.

"Where am I?" He ask, in almost perfect English.

"In Britain; Godrick's Hollow to be exact. You had a malfunctioning portkey. Is this at all near where you meant to go?"

"…Yes, but…the portkey didn't take me into your home…?"

"No, just outside of it actually. My brother and I found you and brought you up here, and I made the antidote. You had teleportation sickness."

The stranger cursed in German. "I thought I'd feel sick, maybe dizzy or nauseous – never thought I'd pass out. _Sheisee_, if you hadn't found me…"

_Set out to change the world: wake up, defenseless, in a stranger's bed._ Gellert's thoughts remarked acerbically. _Wonderful start; you'll have legions flocking to your cause at this rate. _

"I did find you, though." Albus said, trying to put on a cheerful veneer. "All's well that ends well, right?"

"Yes." The stranger said, then smiled wryly. "Although normally, when I wake up in someone's bed, I'd hope to know their name…?"

Somehow, he managed not to blush or stutter as he replied: "Albus Dumbledore."

"Gellert Grindelwald. I'd get up to shake your hand, but, well…" He motioned nonchalantly at his position on the floor.

"Ah, right." Albus waved his wand, and the shards of the glass vial flew back together again and landed neatly in his hand. He refilled it, took a deep breath, then walked over and knelt down in front of the stranger… Grindelwald, he said was his name.

"Drink some more of this. It tastes terrible, but it will help."

Gellert looked at him then; really _looked_ at him in a way that made the hairs on the back of Albus's neck stand on end. He couldn't have put a word to it, but he felt as though the stranger was seeing more than he would have cared to reveal.

"Thank you." Gellert said, accepting the vial and downing the contents in one swig. He grimaced, teeth temporarily tainted black from the potion.

"You ought to rest now, while it takes effect. Then we'll figure out exactly where you intended to go."

He leaned down, hoisting Gellert off the floor and back onto the bed. He could feel the blonde's arms shaking around him, whether due to the after-effects of the bad portkey or something else entirely he would never know.

"You're very kind, to do this for a stranger." Gellert's voice was not meant to flatter, and he looked up from the bed at his impromptu host with something that could at best be described as curiosity – at worst, suspicion.

"I…it's nothing really. Just common decency, to help someone…"

"Do you suppose decency is so 'common'?" He asked, allowing himself to fall back against the pillows.

"It is with me. At least, that's the general idea."

Gellert smiled. _Really_ smiled, not just the ironic smirk Albus had seen thus far. Rational thoughts were lost on his mind for a moment. Then Gellert shut his eyes, and Albus took that moment to make a speedy retreat.

(A/N Physics, elevation, geography - all that stuff Albus was trying to explain to his brother - is referred to as 'muggle studies' because they do not relate directly to magic. And if his explanation was in error as to how any of those things actually work, well...Albus is the genius not me. So! They finally meet. I'd very much appreciate your thoughts on this part - how Albus seems to you, what you think of the dynamics of their first encounter...anything really. I'd love the feedback. Thanks for reading!)


	4. Chapter 4

It was much later that day when Albus returned to his room, knocking lightly on the door before entering. It was approaching dinner time and he intended to ask if Grindelwald was feeling up to eating with them. When he received no answer, he pushed the door open slowly, expecting to find his guest still asleep.

What he found was an empty room. Everything was as he had left it, save for the absence of the newcomer and, Albus realized, the illegal portkey. Even the blankets on his bed had been tucked neatly back into place. The only sign that anyone aside from Albus had ever occupied the room was a red piece of paper folded on his pillow. He picked it up, unfolded it, and read the following:

_Thank you kindly for your hospitality. I have nothing with which compensate you, only my gratitude. _

_-G. G. _

Even as he read it, the paper diminished, curling in on itself until it was reduced to a tiny drop of blood in his hand. He stared at it, brow furrowed. Blood magic. _And _an illicit portkey. That Grindelwald was shaping up to be an interesting character, all right. Albus wondered just where he'd gotten to.

Perhaps, he reflected, it was better that he didn't know.

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Gellert had rested for an hour or so, dozing in and out of wakefulness and various dark dreams. He felt like shit, to say the least, but he could also tell the potion was working. He thought he could guess what had been given to him, a cure-all of sorts, something that allowed the body to regain equilibrium when there were a great number of problems to deal with.

Such a potion was simple enough in its effect, but quite complicated in its creation: one of those delicate concoctions that required both the correct ingredients and preparation, and a good deal of spell-work to boot.

And it was working so fast. That young man – Gellert had already forgotten his name – must be a quite talented wizard, to whip up something like this on such short notice.

Shame he couldn't stick around to chat.

With an effort, he pushed himself up out of the softness of the bed, wobbling slightly as he stood but managing to remain on his feet this time. He felt nauseous and his head was pounding with a vengeance, but he would simply have to live with it. He could spare no more time languishing here.

First things first: dispose of the evidence. He pulled his wand from his pocket and, with a word, set the illicit portkey to incinerating in a fire that would burn nothing but what it was assigned to. It left trace but the faint smell of smoke in the air, and that would dissipate soon enough. Now he needn't worry about getting arrested by the British wizard government.

He glanced once more around the room, making sure he had forgotten nothing. Then he walked over to the window and slid it open as quietly as he could. He could have gone out the normal way, and yet…as kind as his host had been, once his _parents_ entered the equation he might be facing some awkward questions. Plus, Gellert just plain didn't like the idea of facing someone who had seen in him in such a vulnerable state. Better to just get where he was going, and try and forget the blunder with the portkey had ever happened.

He had just flung one leg over the side of it when something made him pause…

…that guy had been awfully nice to him.

Silently cursing his sentimentality, he walked quickly back over to the bed and once again brought his wand to bear, pointing it at his own index finger.

"_Cis_." He whispered, creating a small laceration from which a drop of blood emerged. Blood-magic had always been a favorite of his. While the squeamish might call it immoral, he merely thought of it as efficient, not requiring the elaborate ceremony and equipment that other methods of spellcasting often called for.

With a few choice phrases, the drop of red liquid on his finger expanded and thinned, becoming a piece of parchment the color of blood. He told it what he wanted it to say, and how long he wanted it to remain in its current form (just long enough for the intended person to read it). It was easily enough done, because the blood was _his_, and under his control just as much as any other part of him.

With that done, he turned once again to the window, stepping over the sill and shutting it behind him. He crept down along the roof as quietly as he could, until he reached the lowest point.

Gellert was a robust youth, and was generally up to such physical feats as jumping from high distances and landing on his feet. However, his less-than-optimal reflexes at that moment left him in an undignified heap on the ground.

"This is a bad day." He lamented into the grass before getting to his feet, dusting himself off, and continuing on his way once more. Godrick's Hollow wasn't a large town; his great-aunt's house couldn't be very far from here…

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(A/N "Use Shift + Enter for Single Line Breaks". Wish I'd noticed that sooner . Anyway, I believe 'Cis' is Latin for 'cut'. Haha, Grindelwald is emo! Also, Bathilda Bagshot makes her appearance next. Her character gave me some trouble at first because I didn't have a clear vision in mind of what she would be like. You can decide next chapter if I portrayed her well. Reviews are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!)


	5. Chapter 5

(A/N Edited this at midnight so expect errors.)

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He reached his great-aunt's house quickly. It turned out to be not far at all from the house in which he had found himself an impromptu guest earlier, and he wasn't sure he liked the proximity.

All the lights were ablaze inside, and he could hear voices. All the same, it took a good five minutes for the door to open when he knocked. He heard what he assumed to be his great-aunt's voice grow in volume as she approached the door, still engaged with the hitherto unknown male voice from inside the house.

"Hold on a tic, there's someone at the door here and – oh, my dear boy, it's you!" She enveloped Gellert in a rather jarring hug that did _not _agree with his headache. He was surprised at how young she seemed – surely not even in her forties. Then again, whatever twisted family tree gave him relatives in England had to be pretty strange on multiple levels.

"Goodness I've been worried when you didn't turn up around noon like you said." She went on, pulling him in to a cluttered entryway and shutting the door. He opened his mouth to offer up some white lie about the nature of his delay, but none was required of him. In fact, very few words were required of him at all.

"You haven't come at the best time I'm afraid – not that I'm not glad to finally meet you at last – you remember that I work as a translator for the Union of Sentient Nonhumans? Well, the goblins have just gone on strike – demanding higher wages, more tax deductions and such – as if they don't live handsomely off the money they make in banking – the whole economy is going to be in lockup at this rate, and I'm back and forth between here and London almost every day to interpret whatever demand they've come up with – I don't know _what _they'll be demanding next, they're –"

"Bathilda!" A male voice bellowed from somewhere within the house. Bathilda rolled her eyes.

"That'll be my boss – just wait here for a moment –"

She scurried back up the hall and out of sight, leaving Gellert to stare after her. None of her letters had suggested the sheer…_velocity _of her speech when in person.

After a few moments of indistinct but decidedly frenetic conversation between his great-aunt and her boss, Gellert crept down the hall in the direction Bathilda had gone, from which now the voices were coming.

The living room was in a worse state of distress than the entry way. Papers littered every horizontal surface; several venerable-looking encyclopedias lay open on the table and on the floor. Broken quills and upturned bottles of ink lay forgotten here and there, and a bottle of brandy was open on the table.

Bathilda herself didn't noticed Gellert's presence, engaged as she was in arguing with her boss, whose face was currently visible in the fireplace. From the look of his head alone, he seemed to be a portly man, with a singularly unconvincing comb-over.

"The ministry officials will be in an uproar!" He was saying, lips spraying illusory spittle. "On top of what they're asking – which is outrageous enough in itself – they have the nerve to –"

"Basil, I keep telling you: what's rude for us is considered perfectly normal for goblins – once you get past the requisite insults it's just a policy draft like any other – frankly they were being unusually polite in –"

"I know that and you know that!" The boss, Basil, shouted in exasperation. "It's the rest of civilized society who will take it the wrong way when –"

"Oh Merlin's balls!" Bathilda exclaimed, as black smoke began to billow from the kitchen door behind her.

The kitchen was accessible by two doors: one from the living room, through which Bathilda entered, and one from the hallway, from which Gellert entered. He found his great-aunt alternating between cursing and attempting an extinguishing spell (with limited success) on a pan that had, presumably, held something meant to be edible.

He cast a second extinguishing charm, and the fire died instantly.

"Let me." He said, stepping beside her and taking hold of the pan. "I am a decent cook. Just worry about your job."

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Gellert navigated the alien kitchen with marginal success, his great aunt's voice combining with that of her boss creating a constant backdrop of muffled racket.

Magic was a complicated, intricate, and subtle art with rules unto itself and requiring years of both application and theory to fully master. Cooking, he had learned, was the same way. Therefore, as good as he might be at magic, and as much help magical assistance might have been while preparing food, the complexities of both fields proved to be well nigh irreconcilable unless you wanted to spend a good chunk of your life practicing culinary magic.

It wasn't high on his list of things to do. He nonetheless managed to scrape together a simple meal after extensive searching: just some meat and boiled vegetables. It was rather bland, as he couldn't find where she kept her spices. At least, he reminded himself, it wasn't on fire.

It was, in his mind, a simple business exchange. His great-aunt was providing him with bed and board. He, in turn, would cook the food if she couldn't, listen patiently to whatever the goblins were demanding at the moment, and generally charm her into believing that he was worth his weight in services rendered.

It is a cold way of looking at human interaction, but it was the only way he knew. For most of his life, he had been a ward of the state; the adults who cared for him did it out of no fondness for him, only because they were paid to or – as in Sorokin's case – they pitied what had happened to him as a child.

So he served the plain, yet edible food. Nodded along with his great-aunt's stories and anecdotes (commented where appropriate, which wasn't often), remained politely silent when a panicking boss or co-worker's face would materialize in the fire without warning. He still felt too ill to eat, but she seemed not to notice.

Bathilda found herself wishing, when she had time to think about it at all, that there could be a man her age, who was not related to her, who was such a good listener. As Gellert saw it, it was just another kind of job: something to keep himself fed and give him a bed to sleep in. For now.

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(A/N I hate people who talk like she does, but have the misfortune of knowing many of them. So, here is Bathilda! Most stories I've read portray her as being elderly and rather clueless. I went for younger, and equally clueless. I just don't think she could have been old at this time and still have been alive for Rita Skeeter to interview. I've met aunts that were actually younger than their nieces, so it's not impossible for her to be Grindelwald's great-aunt and be relatively young. Being a translator doesn't exactly correspond to her writing _A History of Magic_, but...she lived a long life. I figure she had time to pursue more than one thing. Next up, we should have Ariana and Aberforth! Thanks for reading!)


	6. Chapter 6

(A/N Tacky, in my opinion, to open with a dream sequence; sorry. After acting relatively nice in the last chapter I feel the need to establish that Gel is still dark psychologically -_-')

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_In a dream, he was sitting in a hut. The walls were of rough but clean wood, and dry herbs hung from the ceiling. The night outside the window was cold, but there was a roaring fire in the hearth, and there were other people there to warm him. All of them were fair of hair and skin like himself, though the light of the fire turned them reddish. _

_There was no distance between him and these people. He didn't have to charm them with lies, didn't have to sneak out the window while they weren't looking. They didn't think he was a monster. _

_They loved him. _

_They were his family. _

_The firelight made them red, they got redder. But the fire was dying…its light and heat were fading away. All sound stopped. The people of his dream grew redder and colder, until he realized they were not people at all, only cold blood everywhere – on the walls, the floor, him. _

_Darkness and coldness fell. The scant starlight from the window was snuffed out. He was alone in the void, with the blood…_

_No. Not alone. There was something in there with him…_

He woke before dawn with a scream on his lips, not knowing where he was. Slowly, recognition returned – the guest room of his great aunt's home – and with it, memory of how he had gotten there.

He was still disoriented; a ship drifting with nothing to anchor it. He truly realized, for the first time, how far he was from his school, his country, his annoying caretakers, everything he had known. The place he had come from wasn't his home anymore than the place he was at the moment. That was just the problem. No place was home to him.

He didn't like these moments, when he was alone in the dark with nothing between he and himself.

He distracted himself with creeping down the stairs in the dark and, with his wand for illumination, familiarizing himself further with his great aunt's kitchen. He didn't particularly like to cook; it was simply a skill he had picked up for survival when there was no longer any mother to cook for him. At the moment, it was all he could think of to take his mind off of dark thoughts, and another step in endearing himself to his current host.

His aunt, as it turned out, was habitually an early riser; strange, considering she had stayed up later than him the previous night. She was quite delighted to find toast and scrambled eggs waiting for her. Dressed in a bathrobe and slippers, she proved to be rater interesting to talk to when he could get a word in edgewise.

She was thoroughly knowledgeable about dozens of magical species, goblins being only one of many she had studied extensively and dealt with on a regular basis in her line of work. Over toast and tea she told him things he'd never known about the cultures of centaurs, kitsune and, of course, goblins.

As the sun rose and the day began though, she began to pick up the manic energy of the previous night.

He managed to slip away when a harried-sounding woman with a face as sharp as a bird of prey materialized in the fire, and she and his great-aunt began a fervent argument about the differences in past-perfect tense between the dialects of goblins from England as opposed to Scotland.

It was with relief that he shut the door to the guestroom behind him. Odd how someone with so much energy could be so exhausting.

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Sometime around eight o'clock, there came a knock on the door, and a voice Gellert thought he recognized. Quietly, he opened his door and crept down the hall to the top of the stairs. The scene he observed made him smirk.

It was none other than his unexpected savior from the day before. It seemed that he had come over to obtain and egg for culinary purposes. Bathtilda gave him the egg, and an earful of babble to go with it.

Gellert felt a little sorry for the hapless fellow (still couldn't remember his name, damn it!) standing there with his ransom egg, too polite to tell her to put a lid on it. After residing with his aunt for less than a day, he knew exactly how the poor soul felt.

He cleared his throat softly. Then, as that had no effect, he tried it again, louder.

Both looked up at him, the nameless man from yesterday doing a (in Gellert's opinion) hilarious double-take when he saw him standing on the stairs.

"Oh, how could I have forgotten?" Bathilda exclaimed. "Gellert – come down here – this is Albus Dumbledore; Albus, this is my nephew, Gellert Grindlewald."

"Nice to meet you." Gellert said brightly, descending the rest of the stairs to shake Albus's hand. Turning his face subtly so that his aunt couldn't see, he winked.

"Um, the pleasure's mine. Is this your first time in Godrick's Hollow?" Albus asked, caught up in Gellert's act of this as their first meeting.

"Yes – it's his first time in the whole country, if you can believe it – he speaks English remarkably well." Bathilda stepped back in. "I mentioned Albus last night at dinner, remember? He just graduated from Hogwarts – top of his class too – not that he'd tell you as much, he's ever so modest – I keep telling him, when he's Minister of Magic someday to remember us when he's famous –"

"So, you've lived here all your life?" Gellert cut in quickly, seizing his chance before his great-aunt absconded with the conversation and dragged it away to places wholly unfamiliar.

"Ah, no but I've lived here a long time."

"You must show me around at once then; I've been ever so turned around since I arrived here." He proceeded to grab Albus's arm and literally drag him out the door at a pace that was just short of an all-out panicked sprint.

"I'll be back by dinnertime." He shouted over his shoulder as the door swung shut behind them. Safety.

"Well, that's done with." Gellert said, dropping his arm. "I swear, if I had known the way that woman talked I'd have pretend I hardly spoke any English."

"Thank you." Albus said simply, with a bit of a laugh.

"Figured I'd repay you for you assistance yesterday. And for not disclosing the…slightly illicit method of my arrival."

"What could I tell her? Since the porkey in question has conveniently vanished."

"Did it? How lucky for me." Then, "If I may ask, what is a star-student, up-and-coming minister of magic doing in a place like this anyway? Other than risking life and limb for an egg."

"It's a long story." Albus said, smiling ruefully.

"I've got time." Gellert said, and wondered why he did.

"You really want to know that? I thought you were tired of people who talked too much."

He rolled his eyes. "As long as you pause for breath every three hours or so you'll be better then she is."

"Well…I suppose the short version is, I'm here to care for my younger brother and sister."

"And your parents…?" This was a game Gellert knew. Get them talking, listen to what no one else wants to hear. You'll own them, after long enough, when they've poured their heart out in your hands.

"My father isn't around; I'll just leave it at that. And my mother died recently."

"So you're essentially an orphan. I'm truly sorry to hear that." Gellert could fake compassion, but he didn't have to in this case. Lucky; insincere emotions were so very tiring.

"It wouldn't be so difficult to manage – our family was fairly well off, financially, but with the problems with the bank and the goblin strike…I'm sure you've heard all about that from your aunt."

"And all your money is tangled up in that mess. I see. How are you surviving?" His voice was uncharacteristically tender with sympathy. It was a balm on the simmering mixture of sorrow, rage and bitterness that Albus was trying gainfully to suppress.

"I have a part-time job in London. It's not much, but it puts food on the table. Speaking of food, I had better get back. Still have to fix breakfast." He hesitated. "I assume you weren't serious, that you needed to be shown around…?"

"I think I'll manage." He said, with a touch of sarcasm.

"Right. Goodbye, then."

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"What took you so long with that egg?" Aberforth asked, not turning from the stove where he was attempting to assemble pancakes.

"Be glad I got back as soon as I did." Albus said shortly, walking over and setting the treasured egg on the counter. "You know the way she goes on."

"And 'she' was the blond kid you were talking to out on the street then, was she?"

"You've got no right to be spying on me."

"I wasn't 'spying', I was looking out the window to see where the you'd gotten to."

"Fine. Is it so wrong to have a pleasant conversation with a person of my own age?"

"Forgive me. I didn't know the matters of this family's meals were infringing on your social life. Take all the time in the world, I'm sure Ariana can go without little things like food."

"You and Ariana are my highest priority." Albus said, forcing himself to be calm. "After all I gave up to be here with you, why must you continue to doubt that?"

"Just go, if we're such a burden. We can manage fine on our own."

"We've been over this. However much you hate it you are going back to school this fall, and I will stay and look after Ariana."

"You think you can ignore her all her life and then waltz in and take care of her? You'll find it's not all that easy, even for a genius like yourself. I've looked after her for years when you were busy being everyone's golden boy, and I can look after her now, on my own, just fine."

"Yes, you'll be fine. Just like mother's good and fine_._"

Aberforth made no response. His eyes were wide, shocked, but not fixed on his brother anymore. They were staring at a point just behind him. Albus turned and, with a feeling of dawning horror, saw Ariana standing, stock-still, in the doorway. Even as he watched, the first tears fell from her eyes.

Silently she turned and vanished from the kitchen. Albus made to follow her, but Aberforth grabbed his shoulder, forcing him back.

"Let me" he said, flatly "I think you've done enough."

He followed his sister, leaving Albus alone in the kitchen.

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Ariana lay in dark emptiness, alone. Distantly, she could hear the sounds of Aberforth searching for her, sense the sorrow he felt. He couldn't see her. In this darkness created by her own wounded magic, no one could reach her.

She couldn't bear to face him. He loved her so much, Aberforth. He didn't understand, didn't understand…

He loved her too much. It humiliated her, every time she knew she didn't deserve it. He would forgive her anything – had already forgiven her everything, as though she was a child, an animal. Was that what she was to him, to the world? Invalid, infantile? She didn't want to be that, but on the other hand…

The alternative was murderer. She didn't want to be that either. She didn't want to be anything.

All she wanted to do was hide away in the darkness.

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(A/N Two chapters in as many days. I'll never be able to keep up this pace, especially when it gets near the end, which I do not look forward to writing at all. Oh well. Here you have Ariana and Aberforth. It was fun developing Ariana's character, but it's tempting to make Aberforth too much of a jerk. He's difficult to deal with, but I want to make his point of view understandable. I haven't yet; that will have to come later. What are your thoughts on the younger Dumbledore brother? Thanks for reading!)


	7. Chapter 7

When he returned to her house, Gellert willingly engaged his great-aunt in conversation for the first time since his arrival.

"He seems quite nice, that Albus Dumbledore. Can't help but feeling sorry for him, without any parents."

"Ah yes, the poor boy" she sighed "That's not even the half of it, you know – he told you he's looking after his brother and sister? – As if it's not hard enough for a boy his age to handle, you have the matter of his sister's condition – did he mention that to you? – I shouldn't say anything really, but between you and me…she's not quite right, you know, in the head. That's why she's never gone to Hogwarts like her brothers – considered unfit to go to school."

"Why? What's wrong with her?"

"I don't rightly know – maybe it's just the strain of a broken family – I shouldn't tell you this either, but" she leaned forward conspiratorially "their father was sentenced to life in Azkaban when she was still young. Just went crazy and attacked a group of muggle boys – that's what they say, anyway. With a father like that, easy to see how the poor girl might be a bit touched."

Gellert grew to resent his aunt a little more with every word. How bad-mannered she was, to be gossiping away like this at the slightest provocation.

Well, whatever. It satisfied his curiosity, which was the only real point of the conversation anyway. Unfortunately, now she had gotten started…

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Even after his aunt provided him _every single fucking detail _she knew or had ever heard about the Dumbledore family, Gellert still found his thoughts wandering back to Albus, as though he was a question to answer, a puzzle to solve.

Gellert did his best to shake off the sensation. He felt bad for the boy's situation, but that was no reason to involve himself. He had enough to contend with without getting tangled up in other people's problems. If he meant to be stronger, he had to associate with people of strength, and there was certainly nothing strong about Albus's position. No, no. He would only drag Gellert down.

But still the thought of him would not leave his mind.

Maybe he felt indebted? That must be it. Albus had helped him when he'd been in a particularly vulnerable condition, for no other reason than that he seemed to be a genuinely nice person.

Still, the only reason Gellert paid back favors was if he anticipated another favor in future. Callous, perhaps, but what else was he supposed to do? He had to look out for himself; no one else was going to.

Although…now that he considered it, he might benefit from some help with the plans for the summer. It was to be his first step tracking down the Hallows – the first step to changing the world. He had a lot to do; it would behoove him to have some assistance, assuming Albus was half as smart as his great-aunt said…

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He sure was spending a lot of time in graveyards lately, Gellert reflected as he poked around the one in Godrick's Hollow. At least it wasn't his own grave he was looking for, this time…

Now that he considered it, it was pretty strange that people insisted on giving each corpse its own bed. Did they think it mattered to a corpse where it ended up? What would be the end of that? Where would they put bodies when they ran out of room? When there were more dead in the ground than living walking above it…

He wondered, then, what the world might look like if no one had to die. Wasn't that what his whole quest was about? Power over death? He'd been thinking of something much more specific, but…If the Hallows had the power they were reputed to, what would stop him conquering death in the most literal sense?

Of course, some people had to die; there just wasn't enough room for everyone ever born. But what if all the best people could stay alive? The ones who had devoted their lives to the good of the world and everyone in it?

How much could he change the world, if he attained the power he sought? The question made him both exhilarated and afraid. He chased the thought from his mind, for now. First things first: locate the grave of Ignotus Peverell.

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The incident in the kitchen set the tone for the rest of the day. Hell, that had pretty much been the tone of Albus's life for the whole summer.

He had no work that day, and only menial tasks about the household. He alternated between reading a book and, when his thoughts wandered, gazing out the window in the hopes of an owl from Elphias. Maybe he could at least take vicarious part in the travels he was no longer able to experience first hand.

But the silence from his brother, sister and Elphias, ground on and on all day, until he felt half-mad with it.

The evening found him sitting in front of his mother's grave. He spent much of his time there lately, when not busy with work or his siblings. He didn't know quite why he was there. To mourn, to think, to feel close to her? In the end, it seemed like the only place he_ could _go.

Light footsteps on the grass were heard behind him – too light for Aberforth. He turned, almost expecting to see his sister, but instead,

"Grindlewald?" The blonde stood a few yards behind him, seeming impossibly alive and vivid in the context of the gloomy graveyard and his equally dismal state of mind.

"Care for the company of the living?"

"It would be quite welcome." After the day of crushing silence, he felt starved for companionship.

Gellert closed the few feet between them, sitting cross-legged on the grass beside Albus.

"Do you feel like telling me?"

"Telling you what?" Albus asked, slightly baffled.

"Why you are out here, with only graves and ghosts? Hardly the place of a happy man."

"You were here." He pointed out. "Are you unhappy?"

Gellert seemed to genuinely consider the question. Truthfully, no one had ever asked him such a thing.

"I don't know…" He said at length. "Discontent, I suppose. But you haven't answered me."

"Just wondering how it's possible to love someone and yet hate every moment you spend together."

"Brother and sister?"

"Yes. Sometime between childhood and now, they seem to have become worse than strangers."

"I'm not the best one to give advice about love or family, but…it seems like they both must have a lot of sadness about the death of their mother. It's not your fault if they take it out on you."

"It's true. I should be more patient I suppose. They're only children who've lost their parents."

"As are you."

_Somehow no one sees that but you. _He wanted to say. _I have to be the one to fix everything, there is no room for me to be a child. _

"I'll have to be more than that, if I mean to help them."

"You're brave."

"…No I'm not."

"You are if I say you are. Don't talk back to me."

Albus smiled in spite of himself. "You're very kind."

"No I'm not."

"You seem so."

"I'm just honest. If you were a piece of _sheisse_ not fit to lick my boots, I would be the first person to tell you so."

"You must make a lot of friends."

He shrugged. "Better to be an honest enemy than a lying friend, no?"

"I'd rather have false friends than honest enemies."

Gellert laughed; a high, bright sound. "Touché. But knowing this, how can I hope to befriend you, never knowing whether you're sincere?"

It was Albus's turn to be brought up short. "You would have to take my word for it, I suppose."

"What are words worth? No more than air."

Honest indeed, and it was hard for Albus not to be stung by it. At the same time, he felt like rising to the challenge.

"If words aren't enough, you would have to stick around long enough to observe my actions. See if I behaved as the friend I said I was."

"Do you say you're my friend?"

"I'd like to be."

"I'd like that too." He held out his hand, and Albus shook it. Strange, how he could have been so sad a moment ago and now feel so happy.

"Do you have any siblings?" Albus asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"I used to."

"Used to? You mean…are they…?"

"Dead. Mother is too, in fact. We're very familiar with death, where I come from."

"Your situation makes mine seem downright cheerful."

"I'd take dead siblings over one's I was on my own to look after." He cocked his head. "Perhaps you think me a terrible person for that?"

"No. Hell, you've more or less summed up my own thoughts on the situation. Not that I'd wish them dead…just wish them away, if that makes sense? Perhaps I'm the terrible person."

"Ja, we're both awful." Gellert said, melodramatically. "But at least, we have each other for company." He laughed, allowing himself to fall backwards on the grass.

Again, Albus was uncomfortably aware of how close they were. It would be…easy to reach out and touch him, lean over and press his lips to…

"I should go." He said, standing. His situation was bad enough, without unrequited infatuation. Best to nip this thing in the bud.

"What?" Gellert sat up. "You know I was _kidding_ about calling you awful – you just don't want to be their parent. And rightly so, as you never even had the fun of conceiving them."

"No, you didn't offend me. It's just…getting late. My brother will be mad if I disappear for too long." This was selling Aberforth a bit short; he generally didn't care what Albus did with his time as long as he took care of his share of chores and meal preparations.

"Alright then. Oh, one more thing, before you go?"

"Yes?"

"You ever think about conquering death?"

That was one he'd never heard before.

"…As much as any other mortal, I imagine. Particularly one who's just lost someone close."

"Wonderful. I have a feeling we're going to get along quite well." He smiled. "Sleep well, Albus."

.

.

He slept terribly though, plagued by nightmares. He stared at his mother's body in her casket, pale and waxen…then it was him in the casket, buried underground to suffocate…Ariana had fallen into deep, cold water, and it froze over her before he could reach her. He could only stare down at her body, entombed in crystal…his father was there too, trapped in the ice cold prison with Ariana. Then Albus was again trapped; frantic, suffocating…

He woke with such a jolt it seemed as though a giant hand had hurled him forcefully into his bed at the exact moment of his waking.

All he could do was lay there, stunned, motionless in body while a maelstrom raged in his heart and mind. Though he had awoken from the dream, all the feelings were still there, just as real as they had been in the dream. The horror, despair, loneliness…it all rose up out of the dark to suffocate him.

And there was no one for him to go to. Elphias was gone. Mother was dead. He had graduated school, where there was always a kindly professor who would lend an ear if need be. The thought of trying to confide in Aberforth was just plain laughable, and Ariana…

The poor wounded soul had enough troubles, without him adding to them.

In his mind, the thought of Grindelwald appeared, suddenly and brightly as if a flame had been struck in the darkness. With that, came a longing so sharp it brought tears to his eyes.

_You're brave_. Grindelwald had said.

_No I'm not. No I'm not noI'mnotnoI'mnot… _

.

_._

(A/N Nightmares and angst all around! :D And I'm on the fence about whether I should portray Elphias simply as Albus's friend or something more. I'm leaning towards the platonic right now; seems like anything else would be adding needless drama. Of course, in a certain sense _all_ stories are needless drama, unless it's the story that goes "Everyone was reasonable, did all they should and nothing they should not, and lived a decently happy life. The end." I don't know. Thanks to Flying Tunamonger for all the reviews; you make me so happy^^ As always thanks for reading!)


	8. Chapter 8

Morning came early at the Dumbledore residence: specifically, in the form of one blond Teutonic teenager knocking on the door. Gellert had planned on waiting until later, but…oh hell he just couldn't. So he was a little eager. How could he not be, in light of his imminent plans? Besides, past experience told him that Albus got up at least at eight o'clock, and it was almost half an hour past that.

His aforementioned plans hit a slight snag, however, when it was not Albus who answered the door.

"Who're you?" Aberforth knew Gellert by sight, but only as the lifeless body that had turned up on his lawn the day before. He felt that the stranger owed him something of an introduction.

"Is Albus home?" Gellert said, _not _feeling he owed Aberforth any introduction at all.

"Who wants to know?" Aberforth asked roughly.

Gellert raised a brow. "Ah yes, you're the one with the propensity for flinging feces." He said, remembering what his great-aunt had told him about this boy. Certainly she hadn't exaggerated his lack of manners.

"What?"

"You throw goat shit."

"'Least I can use a portkey without keeling over." Aberforth rejoined.

Gellert scowled. That's right; this boy had seen him in the wake of his portkey disaster. As if Albus witnessing that was bad enough, he had to have this _arschloch_ privy to his embarrassment…

"Is your brother in or isn't he?"

"He is."

"Then either go get him or step aside and I will do so."

"Or you'll what – pass out on my doorstep?"

If Aberforth felt the temperature drop a few solid degrees or noticed Gellert's pupils dilate slightly, he didn't place it as the sign of immanent danger that it was.

"Who's at the door?" Inquired Albus's voice from inside the house, unknowingly saving his brother from the considerable force of Gellert's anger.

"It's sleeping beauty from yesterday." Aberforth responded.

"Call me that again I swear on my mother's grave I will –"

"I apologize for my brother." Albus said quickly, appearing in the doorway just behind Aberforth.

"I apologize for the cruelty of fate, giving you such a sibling." Gellert said, still glaring venomously at Aberforth, who returned the venom ounce for ounce.

"Let's take a walk." Albus suggested to Gellert, stepping onto the porch, and very deliberately between the two angry younger boys. "Aberforth, would you mind if I'm –"

Aberforth preempted this question by slamming the door in both their faces.

"…gone for a while." Albus finished his sentence to the closed door, fighting the urge to bang his head against it repeatedly. "Apparently not."

"What crawled up his ass and died?"

"I'd rather not get into it." He sighed. "In any case, you wanted something…?"

"I had just wanted to get away from my great-aunt." He shrugged awkwardly. "It seems now I've caused trouble for you."

"The trouble was there already, you were just unfortunate enough to stumble upon it."

"Well, seeing as both our houses are currently, um, inhospitable, maybe you ought to show me around after all."

.

.

"You don't look so well." Gellert commented as they made their way through the streets of Godrick's Hollow: wide and unpaved and mostly deserted. It was shaping up to be a dull, warm day with no clouds and no breeze.

"I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Bad dreams?"

"...Are you reading my mind?"

"You know I'd have to be making eye contact for that." He sighed. "Truth is, I have them too sometimes. And I've never told anyone that, so if word gets out I know who to revenge myself upon."

Albus was silent, digesting this new piece of information.

"So what about you, anyway?" He asked at length.

"Hm?"

"You know a lot about me. I don't know much about you except your name and that you're related to Ms. Bagshot."

"The past is irrelevant. The future is what interests me."

"Okay…" He racked his brain for something to say to that. "Want to tell me about your future then?"

"It will be glorious."

"You know that?" With anyone else, Albus would have laughed.

"Yes. Or rather, I know that my future will either be grand, or that I will have none at all. I'm not one for middle ground."

Albus shivered slightly with what he would have called exhilaration. He'd bordered on arrogance in his own plans for the future, and yet he'd never been half as sure as Gellert seemed. He envied that confidence, now that his own had been taken from him.

A shadow passed over them. Both looked up, to discover the silhouetted wingspan of an owl against the brilliant summer sun.

"Yours?" Albus asked.

"Couldn't be." He had never possessed an owl, generally relying on the public-use ones at school.

Albus hardly dared hope to recognize it as his own great horned owl Boreas, although as it spiraled down to them he saw that it was so. Boreas alighted on his shoulder and held out his leg. Attached to it was a thick envelope baring Elphias's thin, spidery handwriting.

Ironic, the one time Boreas would bring a reply from Elphias was the first time he didn't care.

"He's a lovely bird." Gellert commented, running his fingers lightly over Boreas's dappled brown plumage.

"Thank you - I mean, um, not that the complement was to me per se, just…er" He busied himself with removing the envelope. "I'd begun to worry about him; he'd been gone so long."

Once the letter was removed, Boreas took fight in the direction of the Dumbeldore residence, seeking some well-deserved rest. Albus hoped his owl received a warmer welcome there than he himself could look forward to upon returning home.

"Bad news?"

"What?"

"I mean, I know it's not my business but you just looked very grim suddenly."

"Oh, it's not that, just…"

"Another long story?"

"Right."

"I have nothing but time, my friend."

"You said you didn't care about the past."

"I don't. But it's clear that you do."

Ablus hesitated. He should say anything, shouldn't drag down the conversation complaining about his life more than he already had. He was a man now, wasn't he? Able to bear his troubles in silence if he had to?

"Nothings turning out the way it was supposed to." So much for being a man. "I know, I know – welcome to life, right?" He smiled, though it was bitter. "After we graduated, my friend Elphias and I were to take a year off and go abroad, study with the great wizards across the globe, see the wonders of the world. All my work over the years at school, all the menial drudgery, it was all culminating in this: my grand adventure. Then I got the news my mother had passed."

"And I take it that letter is from your friend, traveling the world without you?"

"Yes. Um, that's the logical conclusion I forgot to make."

"I see. And that is just salt in the wound to the loss of your mother and the difficulty with siblings: the thought of what you are missing."

"Exactly."

"I'm not a very compassionate person, but I feel for you." He had to suppress a smile. Albus was playing right into his hands. "It must be awful."

"It's not what I wanted. I ought to think of the loss of my siblings though, before I sulk over my own. No one ever died of boredom."

"You lost more than they did though. They lost their mother. You lost a future."

"Isn't it awfully arrogant to look at it that way?" Never mind the fact that he himself had thought such things. He wasn't ready to acknowledge those dark thoughts.

"Arrogant, to wish to develop your natural talents? I can think of nothing less so! Imagine how the world would be, if everyone lived up to their highest potential."

"Isn't it enough to live up to my potential as a brother?"

"He asks the one whose siblings are all dead." Gellert said, arching a brow.

"Sorry." Albus said, realizing his mistake.

"Don't be. Honestly, I think there are things more important than family, more important than the good of any single individual, no matter how much you love them."

"When you put it like that, I have to agree with you."

"You don't have to agree with me, but I'm glad that you do. It would be most awkward to have a friend who disagreed with me on such a basic level." He smiled. Time to bring the topic of conversation back to his original purpose. "And, as your friend, I feel I ought to try and alleviate your boredom somewhat."

"You already have."

"Believe me, I've barely begun. I can't replace the wonders of the wide world, however…" his grin was downright wicked, "if you swear to secrecy, I _can_ show you something you've never seen before. Something they don't even teach about at that school of yours."

Albus couldn't meet Gellert's eyes as his mind tripped over the unintended innuendo.

"That…sounds like something I'd be wise to stay far away from." He managed.

Gellert frowned. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. "You don't even know what it is yet."

"No. But I suspect something dark."

"You could say that."

"I'm not interested in such things."

"I don't quite believe you." He smiled again. It wasn't over. "If your mind is made up, I won't try and change it. I'll probably be fine on my own in any case. I'll be in the cemetery tonight, so make sure you stay well away from it if you want no part of what I'm doing."

With that, he left.

.

.

Translation: _arschloch = _asshole_. _(I think/hope)_. _

(A/N Ooooh, cliffhanger! What is Gellert up to? I love how much Gel and Aberforth hate each other right off the bat. They have a lot of personality traits in common: both stubborn, honest to a fault with little regard for rules or authority. It's only natural they'd get along like...like...things that don't get along *fails at metaphor* Also, I'm trying not to make Albus too sulky; attempting to strike up a balance between upset and yet trying to be mature about it. Thanks for reading!)


	9. Chapter 9

Any wizard can tap into certain things which are best left undisturbed. Indeed, it is all too simple to stumble upon the margin between the life and death, as it was never very far away from muggle or wizard alike. As long as there is life, death is always near, waiting.

There was little to gain from sojourns into darkness. No magic can revive the dead, and most things that have any value in life can only be obtained through life, rather than peering through the veil between it and whatever lies beyond.

If a witch or wizard has a reason to reach out into that abyss, they are likely to pay dearly for what they seek. The most common result of dealing with death is that one's magic, and possibly one's life, is lost into the darkness.

And sometimes, when a magician ventures into the dark and returns to life, something of the dark nonetheless comes back with them. The stories of this kind are few and far between. The undertaking is uncommon, and the knowledge is not pleasant to have.

Gellert's rationalization for disregarding all that and performing such a spell regardless of the risk was simple. Nothing of life could be found in the darkness, true, but he was seeking Deathly Hallows, which themselves were on the edge between life and whatever followed. So death was the first place to look for them.

Even so, just peering into the beyond at random wasn't likely to get him anywhere. Death had to be at least as vast as life (or so he assumed). It was unlikely that he would stumble upon anything useful sheerly by chance. That was the real reason he had come here, to this little village in England. He might not possess a Hallow, but he had the grave, the remains of a man who had once owned them. The grave would be his entry point. The place where he would open a window into death and see what the dead had to tell him.

His menial task was to outline two circles on the ground with salt, each large enough to reach well around his chosen grave and what lay beneath it. The first circle, the inner one, was simple; he had created such things before.

The second circle had to be cast from within the first, with the caster inside of the first circle reaching out to form the second. It was far more involved, consisting of complex designs and a multitude of archaic symbols. Chanting something slow and sinuous under his breath, he painstakingly traced the arcane device on the earth with his wand. Wherever it passed, it left a trail of salt behind it, standing out starkly white against the dark soil.

Near the top of the circles, lying against the crumbling headstone, was a chicken he had lured to himself with magic and then placed into an induced coma. The use for that would come later.

The act took hours, as the sun slowly descended and darkness gathered in the sky. His mind was fully absorbed in the task; his thoughts steeped in the forces he was summoning.

It was only as he completed the last symbol, and ended the incantation with a single, particularly complicated multi-syllabic phrase in Sumarian, that the sound of footsteps brought him back to himself.

"I knew you'd come." He said, without looking up.

"I felt it was pertinent to see that you didn't lay waste to Godrick's Hollow with whatever you're planning." Albus said.

"So you're not worried about me? I'm wounded. But you needn't concern yourself; what I do here should only put me at risk."

"And if you carry something back from the abyss and it makes you take the life of everyone you encounter?"

Gellert looked up at him, frowning. "So you _do _know what this is? Too bad. I was hoping I could show you something new."

"This is new to me, but it's not hard to figure out. That inner circle you're sitting in" he motioned "is a basic protection circle, and well done, if I might add."

Gellert nodded in acquiescence to the compliment.

"But the outer one…the symbols in it are ones I admit I've rarely seen. They are usually found at the heart of the worst kinds of magic. The sacrifice you've prepared" he gestured at the stunned fowl "in it's passing from life, it will open the way, and from there you will have a window to look through. That, combined with your location in the graveyard…these things all lead to a logical conclusion: you're tampering with death."

"You're clever, to figure it out so fast. Now, my only question is, what are you going to do? As you can see, the spell is nearly complete. All I need to do is make the sacrifice and it will be done. You can either run back home, call my aunt, or the ministry or both, only to return to find me in the grip of something that was never meant to exist in this world. Or you can stay, and intervene if necessary before anything too unsavory creeps its way into my mortal body."

"You do understand" Albus said quietly "that if any…_thing_ does try and return with you from the darkness, I may have to kill you?"

Gellert's eyes were unflinching. "That's the only reason you're here."

"I will stay. It's the only thing I can do, as was your plan. But tell me, what is it that you're looking for that you would risk so much?"

"I'll tell you if I survive the night, but first things first." He raised a small pocket knife over the prostrate bird, but then hesitated.

"If I…start reciting prayers in Latin, that's a sign that something is very wrong."

"What –?"

Gellert plunged the knife down, killing the chicken instantly.

There was no explosion, no flash of ghastly illumination or cloud of darkness to obscure the light of life. The effect was very slight. It seemed to Albus that the night air itself caught it's breath in shock. That, and the birds that had been slumbering in the foliage around them all took flight at once.

.

At the same moment…

In her bedroom, Ariana screamed, and the windows shattered.

.

Back in the graveyard…

To untrained eyes, it might appear as though Gellert were having a particularly pronounced seizure. He had collapsed onto the ground upon making the sacrifice, and now he writhed there, limbs twitching, eyes open wide but blank. His lips worked, but no sound game from him.

Albus stared in horrified fascination. The rumors he had heard of this ritual…the reality of it was less dramatic in a way. Gellert was not levitating or speaking in demonic languages, as the stories suggested. And in spite of that…it was so much more than he could have imagined. To witness someone on the razor's edge of life and death; to feel how quiet it grew when every living thing fled…the way the air itself seemed not to breathe…

"_Pater noster…" _

Oh no…was that…?

"…_qui es in caelis: sanctificetur…Nomen Tuum…" _

That was definitely a prayer in Latin. Albus didn't understand exactly why that a sign of trouble, but he was willing to take Gellert's word on it. He moved to disrupt the outer circle. Marring any symbol written on the ground should break the connection. But as he reached out to wipe away the white markings on the grave soil, darkness sprung up around his eyes, and pain ripped through the hand he had reached out with. He drew it back, in shock, to find that his fingers were bleeding.

"…_adveniat Regnum Tuum…" _ Gellert continued to recite in a low, monotonous voice. His body jerked more violently; his blood veins stood out darkly against skin that had grown almost paper white. Within the circle, all the plants withered to black. "…_fiat voluntas Tua…" _

The outer circle literally cut through the living world, into the world of death. It was clear that something did not want the connection broken. And whatever it was, it had already slipped enough of itself between the cracks in the world of the living to have power in that world, to prevent him from disrupting the ritual.

He could kill Gellert, and whatever it was would lose its foothold in the living world. The authorities would not trouble him about it, when they saw evidence of what Gellert had been doing. They would see he had had no choice.

Albus was not prepared to take a life.

He turned his attention again to the outer circle. He knew he was facing something greater than himself.

He was not afraid.

There were other powers that existed, beyond dark things that lurked, hateful, on the edge of death.

He focused his mind on that thought, taking deep breath and ridding himself of fear. Then he took action. It was simple, just a phrase. But many wizards could have spoken it and summoned barely a paltry spark. For Albus, it summoned a fire unlike any earthly flame.

As opposed to the portal that Gellert had opened, the fire was not an aberration in the world, or a danger to it. It was purifying destruction, and it devoured the outer circle in a searing flash of red light.

Gellert let out a shriek that pierced the night and seemed, for a moment, to contain a voice that did not belong to any creature of the living world. The fired died, leaving in its wake an eco of ethereal song.

Then there was only darkness, and silence. The last of the light died from the sky, and the stars began to shine out cold and bright above them.

"Are you alive over there?" Albus asked, at length.

"…I thought that I was burning." Gellert said, eyes still closed. "Why did you not kill me?"

"Because I didn't have to."

"That was brilliant. You're as good as everyone says. Better. I thought my great-aunt was exaggerating when she sung your praises. I see now she doesn't even begin to comprehend what you're capable of."

Albus took a deep breath, shaking his head as if to clear it. "How could you have done this? Risked not only yourself but everyone around you?"

"You were here to end my life, if you had to, and then whatever dark thing that was on me would fall back into the dark, and me with it. Who was I risking, beyond myself?"

"And if I had not been here?"

"You _were _here. Why dwell on misfortunes that never came to pass?"

"How can I ever sleep at night knowing that you would do something like this…?"

"My life is my own to risk, and I don't see why it concerns you."

"What we spoke of earlier…this isn't acting as a friend would."

"I fail to see how."

"Then you're insane."

"Freedom might seem like madness, when you live as though in a cage."

His voice was not harsh. It didn't need to be.

How did Gellert know him so well already, to speak words that pierced him to the core, pinned him and left him helpless?

Albus left without another word.

.

He was faced with a whole different brand of disaster when he returned home. In his absence, it seemed that Ariana had experienced a particularly violent episode. The first thing he noticed was that the windows were all shattered. He broke into a run as soon as he saw that, only to find his front door hanging off the hinges.

Panic flooded through him. Had his brother died the same way his mother had, while _he_ was out saving the life of a stranger?

"Aberforth!" He dashed inside and up the stairs, wand out. The walls were scorched. "Aberforth are you alright?"

"Shut up! You'll only scare her again!" His brother's voice responded from down the hall. Albus breathed again.

He discovered Aberforth seated beside their sisters bed. Ariana was asleep. Aberforth was bleeding.

"You're hurt."

"Brilliant observation. A plus." Aberforth's voice was lacking the usual prickly tone. He simply sounded tired.

"Show me where." Albus raised his wand again. "I'll fix it."

"Leave it. Work on fixing the house." Aberforth stood and walked out of Ariana's room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Aberforth, I –"

"I said leave it."

"I will not let you run around with an open wound. Either you _let _me heal it or I will do it by force."

He didn't like the way his voice sounded. Harsh. Angry.

Aberforth raised his left arm and pulled up his sleeve, revealing a long gash on his forearm.

"Is this how its gonna be?" He asked, as Albus said the incantation to mend flesh. "Ask me to do the things I will, force me to do the things I won't?"

"You give me no other choice."

"You do what you want to do. Always have."

"In the past. Not anymore."

"Might as well. We don't need you."

"The blood on the floor tells a different story."

"Maybe I want to bleed. That's what family does for each other, they bleed, and they suffer. You never wanted any part of that, and you still don't. I'm no A student but I can tell that much."

The spell was finished, Aberforth's arm whole again.

"Go then, if my company is so abhorrent to you." Albus said heavily.

"Save the self-pity." Aberforth raised his eyes to his brother's, equally bright and piercing. "I'm not saying this because I hate you. It's clear you don't want to be here."

"How could I, when you make every moment hell?"

"All the more reason for you to leave."

"I am not going anywhere."

"That's too bad. For both of us."

.

Albus worked well into the night repairing the house. The level of damage was such it seemed as though the entire structure had been lifted off the ground and dropped back down to it again from a considerable height.

Ariana had had bad fits before, but this was unprecedented. Could it be…? Had she somehow sensed the malevolent presence so very near her? Logic told him no, and yet what else could have scared her so badly?

Sensing demons, demolishing houses…what a powerful witch his little sister would have been, were fate not so senselessly cruel.

His brother and sister would never be alright, with him or without him. How could any children be alright, in world where such things happened?

.

.

(A/N To make it clear: when I say 'demon' I do not mean in the biblical sense. Gel's reason for reciting prayers will be discussed later, but it is not because the ritual had anything to do with God or Satan.)


	10. Chapter 10

(A/N A short one. I realize I need to describe Albus's job in greater detail, but this just wasn't the right place to do it.)

.

.

The days after the indecent in the graveyard passed very normally, and Albus did a good job of convincing himself that was a good thing. His job called him away a few days out of the week, and otherwise he was resigned to household chores. Aberforth remained prickly, Ariana remained distant and remote. He wrote a response to Elphias that was a total lie by omission. He immersed himself in his normal life; everything that had nothing to do with Grindelwald.

His mental prohibition was interrupted, however, when he entered his room to find an origami bird fluttering outside his window.

"Considering you shamelessly break the code of secrecy and pay wanton disregard to muggle witnesses," he said aloud as he opened the window, "I don't need to wonder who sent you."

The paper bird flew into his hand and unfolded of it's own accord. On it was written:

_I'm going to do you the honor of respecting your feelings, and not try and win you over. You may hate me for my recklessness, but please do not fear for yourself. I don't plan on staying in your village forever, just until the end of the summer. Perhaps, you think, that is still too long. I hope it will ease your mind to know that I don't intend to do anything of the same magnitude through the duration of my stay. _

_-G. G. _

The letter didn't turn to blood in his hands this time. Thankfully; he'd had his fill of blood lately.

In a fit of inexplicable anger, he ripped the paper into pieces. Damn him, damn Gellert Grindelwald for his arrogance, recklessness and harsh words. And damn him most of all for making Albus hope. For shedding some light on the darkness in his heart, only to snatch it all away again.

_You're brave. _

_Freedom might seem like madness, when you live your life in a cage. _

How could someone make him feel such happiness and pain at the same time? Leave him wishing they had never met, and yet dying to see him once more?

That's when Albus realized he was in love.

No. No, no, _no! _

He denied the thought almost as soon as he had it. Tried to nullify it, send it back to the dark recesses of his subconscious from whence it came.

It wasn't love, he told himself. It was shallow infatuation. He was attracted, that was all. He barely knew Grindelwald. He wasn't even on a first-name-basis with him. He could count on one had the number of times they had met. He wasn't even sure he _liked _him.

As if the logic of the mind held any sway, where the heart was concerned. Even if this wasn't love, this was by far as close to it as he had ever been. There had been one or two boys back in school that he had fancied. They hadn't seemed likely to return his feelings, and ultimately he was content to be their friend and nothing more.

With Grindelwald, he wanted more. Albus had wanted him from the moment he laid eyes on the other boy. And everything Grindelwald had done since, even the things that made Albus angry…they only intensified his desire. Grindlewald was in his system like sweet poison.

He could have laughed at (or hit) himself. Was he really the type to be taken with the 'dangerous' type? To fall for a boy who was mysterious and risky and just a little bit mean?

_Oh who am I kidding, of course he's the kind I'd fall for_.

He shook his head, as though he could knock the unwelcome realization right out of it. Even if he was in love or only in lust or whatever, it didn't change the fact that Grindelwald was dangerous. He was a risk to have around: the illegal portkey, the blood magic, the brush with death and the malevolent forces that dwelt therein…he was unpredictable. After the incident in the graveyard, Albus would almost go so far as to say he was _insane_.

And here Albus was, pining after him. Mercy help him, they were both insane.

.

.

(A/N I was discussing the concept of this fanfic with my friend, when in the sky there appeared not one, not _two_, but THREE rainbows. I took it as a sign that God/Goddess/the Universe/Buddha/What-Have-You not only approves, but probably ships Grindeldore as their OTP)


	11. Chapter 11

Gellert was scrutinizing a copy of his Great Aunt's _Daily Prophet_ when he was distracted by a tap on the window. Unaccustomed to receiving personal mail, he was startled to see Boreas perched on the windowsill, a small piece of parchment attached to his leg.

Once he had opened the window and detached the parchment, the message it proved to be very short:

_Meet me outside_.

Boreas took flight as soon as Gellert had received and read it, clearly not awaiting a response.

Though minimal at best, the message filled him with a tense, tingling excitement. Obviously it was from Albus, and given how they had last parted ways it probably wasn't going to be a light and friendly chat.

.

.

No sooner had Albus seen Boreas take flight back in the direction of his house then the bolts of Bathtilda's door were being opened and Gellert emerged into the night.

"You wanted to see me?" He asked, walking down the front steps to join Albus in the garden.

"You owe me an explanation. I don't need to ask what you were trying to do. Looking into death, combined with your position on the grave of Ignotus Peverel tell me all I need about your intentions. What I don't understand, is _why_ you're chasing after children's tales."

"When you put it like that, I don't feel like telling you." Gellert said, frowning slightly.

"You said you would tell me why if you survived. And you did."

"I figured you would be too angry for us to ever exchange another civilized word."

"Clearly you were mistaken about that. Perhaps you'll be mistaken about this too."

"You won't understand."

"That's your problem. Now tell me."

Gellert was silent for a long moment, looking at Albus in a way that made him slightly uncomfortable.

He was weighing his options. He could lie. Or, if he wanted to really piss Albus off he could refuse to answer just to be a prick.

No. He didn't want Albus angry with him, not more than he was already. And while his better told him just to lie, part of him wanted to tell Albus know everything. It got tiring, even for Gellert, to keep so many secrets. And furthermore…what if he gained more than someone to help him for one night, one little task? Albus had shown himself to be both powerful and resourceful. Gellert could do a lot worse, as far as someone with whom to share his cause.

"I don't know how to explain it to you." He said at last. "England is such a nice place, the muggles here are civilized and peaceful. In most of the world that's not the case. For instance, have you heard of the Russian cross?"

"No." Said Albus, slightly baffled.

"It's a…what do you call it?...a _statistic_, data collected by the muggle government. It means that the birth rate has dropped" he mimed tracing a downward-sloping line the air "and the death rate has inclined" another invisible line, rising this time, its trajectory intersecting that of the first "to the point where the population is dying faster than it can replenish itself."

Albus nodded his understanding.

"And the conditions in Russia are still better than in other countries. Don't get me started on the conditions of South Africa."

"I do know something of muggle politics." Albus said softly.

"It's not simply politics though. The very principles that guide their lives are in error; even here in peaceful England. Most wizards never study religion; why would they? But I have, let me tell you." His voice was strangely bitter. "You cannot imagine what it is like, to live under such beliefs."

"Can't I?"

"How could you, being raised in the wizarding world? What could you have seen of what muggle folly leads to? War, genocide, hate crimes, mutilating children in the name God…"

Albus was shocked at the sudden anguish evident in his words.

"I was raised in that world." Gellert continued. "How could I make you understand?"

"I understand more than you think." He hesitated, then, "I'm going to tell you a secret. And I know enough about you to conceivably have you arrested, so you had better keep it."

"I would keep it regardless. Tell me."

"My sister is –"

"Touched? My great-aunt told me that already, gossiping fool that she is."

"She didn't tell you why though."

"No."

"That is the secret. My sister was young, too young to have any control over her magic. She was in the yard alone and…and some muggles observed her…" He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I don't know exactly what they did to her. I was too young, my mother wouldn't tell me. Whatever it was, she's never recovered. It broke her. Made her the way she is today."

"And your father avenged himself on them, didn't he? _That's _why he was sent to Azkaban."

"Bathtilda didn't spare any detail, it seems." Albus said dryly. "My father couldn't tell why he'd done it when they tried him. If the Ministry got wind of my sister's condition…she'd be locked away. Forever, most likely."

"And that left the rest of your family to live with the secret and shame…and now with your mother gone…" He shook his head in sad astonishment. "Here I thought your brother was the worst of your troubles."

"I actually have Aberforth to thank in a lot of ways. He can deal with Ariana much better than I can. He's had to; when I was off at school being the model student. So yes, I know something of the ways of muggels. What does this have to do with my question?"

"Their crimes go beyond your sister. It touches everyone, hurts everyone in some way big or small. Oppression of women, for example, is the norm in almost every muggle society. And then you have racism, people judged to be less than human because of the color of their skin. We know better. We can see that as far as magic goes, there is no difference between man and woman, black or white or Asian or anything else. Try and find a muggle man who's willing to admit a woman is his equal. Try and find a muggle Caucasian who would look at an African as their equal."

"What you're saying is true enough. But wizard have their own vices."

"We each have our own personal sins, yes, but our society as a whole isn't as prone to them. We've never adopted such a backwards system of government as an absolute monarchy, for one thing."

He held out his hand, numbering each point on one finger.

"Wizards have never enslaved one another en masse; we do not field thousands of soldiers to kill each other because politicians disagree with one another. Wizards have an average lifespan that is both longer and of better quality that the average muggle. And even the poorest wizard family is worlds away from the poverty that _millions _of muggles live in all their lives."

"I think I see where you're going, but it's a dangerous prospect. There have been those who have spoken of wizards taking a hand in muggle society. But how can we, as wizards, assume we're so wise as to know what is best?"

"We do know what's best. More than a bunch of animalistic cretins who would hurt a young girl because she's supernatural. And it's not just a matter of how muggles live. It affects us too. Wizards born of muggles carry those attitudes into our world with them. Racism, sexism, homophobia, all these attitudes bleed over into our own society, although we have no reason to espouse such petty bigotry."

"And if wizards were to take a hand in muggle society, would these things necessarily improve?"

"Attitudes and beliefs will never be easily altered, I'll give you that much. But if you can improve the quality of a person's life, you improve the quality of their mind, correct?"

"So, you're suggesting that if we were to use our powers to better the conditions in which muggles live – ignorance, poverty and such – then their own societies will be more enlightened, as ours is?"

"Exactly. You phrase it better than I do. The few people I've told this to just laugh at me. They are blind to the world to believe me when I tell them of its darkness. Or they're too arrogant to care for the fate of muggles – to acknowledge that their fate affects our fate too."

"I am not laughing."

"No." He looked at Albus cautiously. "Can you see now why it matters so much to me? That I would take such risks, and strive for such power? I can't accomplish what I want to without it."

"I assume you intend to make the change you wish to see in the world, whether or not people agree with you?"

"Honestly? Yes. I believe in this too much to be dissuaded. But I think people will come to see things my way, once they open their eyes. Most people aren't like you. They don't have the depth of mind, the vision, to see this on their own. I will show them. But to do that, I need power."

"You might not need any power other than the truth. All you've said to me is true, and the facts are compelling."

"Like I said before, you are not like most people. Half the people in this world don't give a damn about others, and the other half is too lazy to do anything about it."

"That's where I disagree with you. I think all people have integrity, even if it's more obvious in some and less in others."

"…I only wish I could see it that way. So, should I take this to mean you don't think I'm insane?"

"I think you're either insane, or braver than all the Gryffindors I've ever known put together."

"Bravery is its own kind of insanity. Life is insane, and you must be insane to live it."

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(A/N The Russian Cross is real but it might be an anachronism here; I'm not knowledgeable about Russian history. The point is the same, regardless: the world is kinda fucked up.)


	12. Chapter 12

Due to the deadlock that was England's wizard economy at the time, Albus had had no choice but to swallow his pride and search for work in the muggle world. It was doubly humiliating that he, having no experience in any field of mundane profession, had to settle for the lowest of entry-level positions.

A cannery was where he earned his wages. It was hot, loud, demanding work; he thought the steam and the noise and the bizarre machinery was as close a vision of hell as he could imagine.

His schedule varied, depending on how the harvest was going at any given time, and therefore how much raw materials the cannery had to process. He often didn't know when he would be working any given day until he punched in his timecard the night prior.

Then there were his co-workers. Maybe it was his long hair. Or perhaps they could sense, somehow, that he was as different as it was possible to be from any of them. Either way, they shunned him totally, unless it was to jeer or throw dark glances in his direction. Even at the best of times, spiteful whispers followed wherever he went, to the point that he was glad the place was so loud as to drown out everything else.

It bothered him. How could it not? And if these people would treat him so badly, just because he was 'different'…it wasn't too far a leap of logic to suspect they would do worse if they could. Ridiculing a man, attacking a young girl. That was where this hostility, this ignorance, led.

At the very least, he could find shelter in his own world at the end of the day. But what about the people who could not? The muggles and muggle-born wizards who were doomed to this?

_I was raised in that world._ Gellert's words recalled themselves to him. _How could I make you understand? _

He understood, all right. He understood too well.

.

.

After work, he was exhausted; his body wanted nothing more than to collapse and shut down. His heart and mind, however, were already knocking on Bathtilda's front door, and Albus could do nothing but follow suit.

He was pleasantly surprised when Ms. Bagshot herself did not answer the door, and he instead found himself face to face with the subject of all his thoughts lately.

"Do you really think you can change the world?" He was just too tired to bother with pleasant small-talk.

"I know I can." Brown-sugar eyes met bright blue ones, steady and unwavering. Albus felt many things in that moment, hope and fear and love so strong he could have choked on it. Yes, he was in love, he couldn't even pretend to deny it anymore.

"I want to help you."

"Nothing would make me happier."

His smile was radiant, and Albus had to look away. He wasn't here for love, not the romantic kind anyway. He could love Gellert's mind, his ideas and his ambition. That was enough. It would have to be.

"We have a lot to talk about, you and I." He stepped back, motioning Albus inside. "My great-aunt is away in London until tomorrow. I'll make us some tea, and tell you all about my grand schemes."

Somehow, Albus wasn't tired at all anymore.

.

.

"The more I thought about it, the more I realized nothing has ever made more sense." Albus said. They were seated on Bathtilda's couch, two steaming cups of tea on the coffee table in front of them.

"Of course. You're much to smart a person not to know sense when you see it. I was afraid I'd made a mistake though, in the graveyard. To be perfectly honest, I wanted to impress you."

"You did. A little too much."

He laughed. "Exactly."

"So what did you see anyway, when you looked into death?"

"I thought you didn't approve of such things."

"I don't. But since you've gone and done it anyway, we may as well profit of your recklessness."

"Very well. I didn't find any answers, nothing to give me a clue about where the Hallows might reside nowadays."

"I could have told you as much." Albus said, gently. "The only things of value in life are obtained through life."

"Ah, but I didn't say I gained nothing. Although I saw very little related to the Hallows, what I _did _find were traces of the others who came before me, and tried to do the same thing. Many of them are still there. They went to look into death, and never came back."

"What does that tell you, other than it was a bad idea all along?"

"Because, all the men – and women, although there weren't many – who have sought after the Deathly Hallows have been power-hungry maniacs with no motives beyond personal power."

"That doesn't reflect too well on yourself." Albus said, frowning slightly.

"Only goes to show that all rules have exceptions." If he was offended, it didn't show. "The point is, the Hallows have to be somewhere. Humans would never let such relics of power out of their clutches. And now that we know the general profile of those unsavory individuals who go to extreme measures to obtain them, we know where to begin."

"What, we go search the house of every 'power-hungry maniac' in the hope of locating a Hallow? We'll have a long search ahead of us."

Gellert laughed again. "Merlin knows we'd have daunting task, but no, you're only half right. We're looking for power-hungry manicas, who already _have _power."

"That seems like a daunting enough task in and of itself. Your plan, it seems, is to approach every powerful and evil wizard the world over, to try and get close enough to deduce if they have a Hallow – and then try and take it for yourself?"

"_Our_selves. And I have to disagree with your terminology. Just because someone is a power-hungry maniac does not necessarily make them evil. One can be hungry for the power to do good, can't they?"

"Power corrupts, though."

"If that was the case, all wizards would be inherently more corrupt than muggles. Yet we see how that it not the case. Anyway, I'm not disagreeing with you except on technicalities. Whoever possesses the Hallows – particularly the Elder wand – is probably corrupt and rotten to the core."

"Why begin with the Elder wand? The cloak or the stone wouldn't be nearly so appealing a target for evil, powerful wizards. They might be easier to obtain."

"Maybe. It's just that the wand will help us get the stone and the cloak, but not the other way around."

"They could."

"An invisibility cloak – even _the_ invisibility cloak – won't do us much good against the owner of the Elder wand. Not if they're a dark wizard worth the title. And as for the stone…what good would that do at all?"

"Think about it. With the stone, we could talk to anyone that has ever died. We could speak to the Elder wand's previous owners. Ask them how they obtained it, and how _we _can obtain it."

"Would they be willing to talk, though?"

"Suppose we spoke to the person who owned the Elder wand prior to its current owner. Wouldn't that person presumably be eager to avenge themselves on the thief?"

"Ah yes, of course! The Elder wand is hardly something one gives up willingly." He smiled warmly, and Albus had to look away.

"Can I ask you another thing?" He said after a moment.

"Aside from that?"

"Um, yes."

"Go on then."

"Were you raised religious?"

"Why?" His voice was wary, all trace of smile gone from his face.

"You don't have to tell me, if it's personal." Albus said, quickly. "I just wondered…about the prayers in Latin; why you would say them as you were on the edge of death."

"I don't want to talk about it. Don't ask me about that again."

"I won't." He said, taken aback. "I'm sorry."

.

.

Their conversation ran on into the early hours of morning, only stopping when Gellert went to prepare more tea, and returned to find Albus fast asleep.

He looked so…defenseless. It made Gellert smile: that bit of vulnerability in the face of all that power and knowledge. He'd never felt as warmly towards anyone than he did towards Albus at that moment. He was wholly unaccustomed to the feeling.

He summoned a blanket from the upstairs linen closet and covered his sleeping compatriot, then removed his glasses and set them on the coffee table beside the empty teacups.

"You're everything I've hoped for. Even though I didn't know I was hoping." He reached out and brushed a strand of auburn hair from the slumbering face. Then he stood, and collected the empty teacups to wash before he himself turned in.

"Sweet dreams, Albus."

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(A/N Gel is infatuated too, he just doesn't know it yet ;) I chose a cannery for Albus to work in because of personal experience. Bad work, although my co-workers were actually quite enjoyable. Thanks for reading!)


	13. Chapter 13

Their days were divided between researching the history of the Hallows, and poring over newspapers and other accounts of current events, attempting to identify the pattern of upheaval that Gellert said the Hallows were sure to cause anywhere they went.

"It's not a fact that the wand must be passed through murder, but obviously that's how it usually happens. Who would give up such a thing willingly? Sooner or later, it will spark conflict, and that will lead us to it."

"It worries me, when you put it like that." Albus confessed.

"Oh why?"

"It seems…I don't know, wrong somehow that our quest for peace would be rooted in something so dark."

He could tell, at once, he's said something Gellert wasn't prepared to hear. He closed his eyes, as though summoning patience for dealing with an obstinate and unreasonable child.

"I do see your point." He said, although the words were forced. "But what would you have us do?" He looked at Albus, not angry exactly but clearly upset. "I have enormous faith in you and in myself, but I'm not prepared to take on the world, just the two of us alone without other resources."

"I'm not suggesting that."

"What, then?" His voice was heated now.

"I don't know. I shouldn't have said anything. Forgive me."

Gellert reached out, placing a hand on Albus's forearm. "It's not that I'm mad at you. It just concerns me, if we're not in accordance on such a basic level."

As if it was easy to argue with him, even without the touch.

"I am in accordance. I wasn't saying I disagree with your plans. But even the best laid plans leave room for doubt."

"Yes." He seemed relieved. "The darkness inherent in the Hallows _would _give you pause, whereas I hardly take note of it. Really, you're quite good for me."

It was that kind of talk, along with the way Gellert looked at him, which made Albus ache with the secret, impossible hope that such things were fueled by more than platonic affection.

Maybe when they changed the world, it wouldn't be such a shameful thing for boys to love one another. The attitudes against homosexual conduct had roots in the bible, and Gellert was quite right when he said that although wizards held little stock in such teachings, those insidious attitudes nonetheless found their way into the magical society.

And how must it be for poor muggle boys, confined not just by fear of rejection but by fear of the law? As if unrequited love wasn't hard enough, without the whole world standing against you.

.

.

"Come out and watch the sunset with me. We don't need to be buried in books all the time." He was motivated partly by a childish need for reassurance, that Gellert was still interested in him as well as their dreams and schemes.

Aforementioned youth stirred sleepily from where he sat on the floor with his back against the bed, half buried in parchment, books and quills: the general clutter of research.

"Sounds delightful." He said, stretching. "Although my legs are so deeply asleep you might have to drag me."

.

.

Outside in the street, the sunset was indeed a sight to behold. As the glowing orb bowed its head towards the horizon, it seemed to set the very sky around it on fire; golden sky, crimson clouds.

Fire…

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you about."

"Hm?"

"When we were in the graveyard, and I was in the clutch of that malevolent force from the other side, what exactly did you do to save me?"

"Can you not guess?"

"Seeing as I was a little less that alert and observant at the time, all I know for sure is that you invoked some very powerful fire magic. And it would have to be a very strange flame, even at that, for how could it harm something that exists within death itself?"

"Phoenix fire. A fire that does not destroy, only rebirths. Needless to say, creatures of the, ah, darker nature find it disagreeable."

Gellert's face was a picture of shock. "Wizards study the phoenix for years and never accomplish what you did."

"So you have heard of it."

"Yes, but only in the most abstract context. The phoenix itself is so remote, so ethereal – the highest form of magical being."

"I'm hoping to attain one myself someday, to summon not just the fire, but the phoenix itself."

"How does one even do that?"

"I don't pretend to understand how, not yet. As you said, it all very esoteric. Something about using your will and your magic to allow such a creature to manifest into this world. I would have to be quite old, ever to attain such a thing."

"You will. You've gotten farther as far already as wizards twice your age and they're no slouches to begin with." Gellert looked at him with something that Albus had never seen in him before. He seemed almost…shy. "I have to admit, I kind of envy you."

"Why? You're incredibly talented."

"I know I am. And you are more so. You've heard this so often it's gotten boring I expect – from simpletons like Bagshot and the huge fan following you must have had at school – but you are truly something special. A wizard like you could make the whole world sit up and take notice."

"You make it out to be more than it is. And even if I was all that great, I would still be…in awe of you."

Their eyes met, and with a thrill of terrifying certainty, he knew that Gellert understood. Lightning might have sparked in the air between them.

It would have been impossible to say who kissed who first. It was soft and tentative and _perfect_. Albus felt like he might have called a phoenix into being right then and there, for surely such pure joy must transcend worlds.

Then, as quickly as it had happened, Gellert pulled away, slipping out of Albus's outstretched fingers and vanishing into the night gathering around them.

From heaven, down to hell in barely a moment. Albus cursed himself for being born, for being fool enough to love.

.

.

The night found Gellert in a similar condition. He had taken refuge in the forest surrounding Godrick's Hollow, being incapable at the moment of putting on a happy façade for his great aunt.

Why, why, why had he gone and done that?

It wasn't the thought of kissing a boy that bothered him. Would that his problem were as simple as that. If only he was as innocent as that.

Yes, he knew the ways of boys and love. He had learned like pretty girls learn, how to play the game before they know what they're playing. It had been intuitive for him at first, how if he smiled at certain teachers in such a way in might get him out of trouble or save him a failing grade. As he got older, he was not above exploiting that.

Had he been born a girl, he might have made a lot of his inherent charm. Pretty girls are adored openly and with pride. Pretty _boys _are something to love in dark, secret shame.

How many other students had whispered flattery and clumsily fondled him in secret only to maintain girlfriends where the rest of the world was concerned? Enough to make him tired of it, that was for sure. Slap their hands. Shrug off their advances. _Go back to your girl._ Why wouldn't he exploit that kind of attraction whenever he could?

_Oh Albus, do you realize you've kissed a viper? _

That kiss hadn't been about manipulation, though. He had had no agenda; indeed, he hadn't had a thought in his head. It was just…Albus was just so…

Sheisse, when had he gotten in so far over his head? How could he have fallen so hard, so far, for him? Originally, he'd seen the other boy as simply an asset. If they'd become more – allies, friends even – that was fine. He could grudgingly admit that he was stronger for it.

But to fall for him…that was something else entirely. He didn't want to be in love. He had assumed up until that point that he was incapable of it. And yet if this…this emotion, which made him loose control of himself and do stupid things like kiss someone for no reason, if this wasn't love then the word was meaningless.

Then again, wasn't 'love' supposed to make someone happy? And yet he wasn't happy in the slightest. Because Albus didn't love him. He was attracted, to be sure. Maybe he even thought he was in love.

_But he can't love me. He doesn't know me. _

Nothing of his past, the blood on his hands, the cold, cynicism with which he viewed the world.

_Honestly, the only good thing about me is him_. _He wouldn't look at me with such affection, if he knew._

And why did that thought have to hurt so much? In fact, all of his thoughts of Albus were like that, aching and tender like a wound inside of him. Those gentle blue eyes, his rich, darkly red-brown hair, even how annoyingly tall he was. And so smart, while somehow retaining a touch of idealism, even in the face of all his troubles. Pure in so many ways that Gellert was tainted.

His mind told him to run, leave the village and never come back, leave Albus to love someone more worthy. His heart told him to go to Albus, renounce his dark past and devious ways, to _be _the lover that deserved him.

Logic told him neither thing was possible. All he could do was close his eyes, surrender to love and all its pain.

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(A/N Many bad things have happened recently, the only thing relevant here being that my computer crashed and I lost all of what I'd written of this story (all I've ever written of anything since I was fourteen, in fact, except one or two big projects I had backed up.) So that might delay me. On the other hand, writing is my stress relief, so who knows? I might end up spending more time on this fic than ever.

To Flying Tunamonger: I agree with you totally; it limits Gellert's character when he's construed as a pitiless user. I try to have an element of both things here, make him cold and calculating and yet not heartless or wholly unsympathetic. And as for his plans, I prefer to see him as someone with a good idea who went too far and was corrupted by power, rather than corrupt with evil intentions in the first place. Seems more realistic in my mind. Thanks for reading.)


	14. Chapter 14

Albus's first inclination was to crawl into a hole and die. But the duties of work and housekeeping, if not exactly comforting, offered at least a distraction from the soul-crushing angst that consumed him every time he thought about Gellert.

It didn't help that Gellert seemed to be avoiding him like the plague in the days after their disastrous kiss, although to be fair Albus wasn't exactly seeking him out either.

When his thoughts did drift to the blond, he vacillated between various states of emotional upheaval. Sometimes he was angry – _after all he says about equality and lack of religion-based bias, he shuns me because I'm not heterosexual? The bloody hypocrite! _

Sometimes he was despairing – _what is so wrong with me? Best friend abandons me here, siblings hate me, and now he runs away too. Am I that unlovable? _

And sometimes hope – _we can probably still be friends. Worse misunderstandings have happened. Men and women can be friends in spite of the occasional issue of sexual attraction, no reason the same can't be true of us._

It was that thought which he clung to. It wasn't very hopeful hope, for he knew with a terrible certainty that he would never be happy as Gellert's friend and nothing more. Yet better to have him as a friend than not at all.

With that in mind, he penned a quick note: _we need to talk._ And sent Boreas over to deliver it. He'd given Gellert enough time to recover and gather his thoughts; this hide-and-seek game where they both hid and no one sought had gone on long enough.

As minute after minute ticked past after Boreas's absence, Albus wondered if he was making a mistake. What was talking so long? He had hoped for a simple 'yes' and perhaps a suggestion on a time and place to discuss the…issue. Was Gellert, perhaps, composing a long, apologetic explanation that he never want to see Albus ever aga –

A tap on the window snapped him out of his ridiculously gloomy thoughts. Expecting to see his owl outside the window, he nearly fell out of his chair when he saw Gellert there instead.

"Is there something wrong with the door?" He asked, when he had hurried over and opened the window.

"There's something wrong with your brother, who would likely have answered it." Gellert said as he maneuvered over the sill. "I'm in no mood to deal with the obstreperous boy."

",...Fair enough." Albus consented, shutting the window behind him.

"In any case, you wanted to talk to me?" Gellert said taking a seat on the bed.

"Yes." He inhaled deeply, steeling himself. "I apologize for what happened earlier. It was a misunderstanding and it won't happen again. I want nothing more than to be your friend."

"Misunderstanding? I kissed you and you kissed me. What is there to misunderstand?"

_That _was something Albus hadn't expected...

"Um…your romantic interest in me?"

"Right." A smiled that was more like a grimace. "When I've figured that out you'll be the first to know."

"I see." This was better than he'd hoped, in a way. At least there was some question of being more than friends. "So you've never…considered men before?"

Gellert laughed. "I've been messing around with boys since I was eleven. But you didn't say sexual interest; you said romantic interest. That's another matter entirely. I've fucked people, never loved them."

Albus simply stared at him for a moment, speechless.

"What? Do you like me less now you know I've been around the block a few times?"

"I don't care – I mean, I don't think less of you. I'm just sorry that it's been that way for you."

"You're sweet, but you missed the point. I prefer it that way: no feelings, no complications."

"…Is that what you want with me?"

"No. Even if it was it would be impossible now. You mean a lot to me, and I'm attracted to you physically, mentally, emotionally…" He closed his eyes momentarily, brow slightly furrowed. "You see, I never wanted to care about anyone that much."

"But you do care – if I understand you correctly?"

"Yes."

"And I feel the same. So what is the problem?"

"The problem is me. I'm no good for…for this sort of thing." A pause, then, very quietly, "for _you._"

"Let me be the judge of that."

"I will. But you don't have all the evidence." Gellert stood, and realized he was shaking, ever so slightly. He wasn't looking forward to this, not at all. "You haven't seen the ugly parts of me. You don't know the _real me_. Let me show you…"

The blood might have rushed to Albus's face (or perhaps some other region) when Gellert began removing his shirt. And yet nothing about his manner suggested something amorous. Quite the opposite.

Indeed, when the shirt was discarded, romantic impulse was the furthest thing from Albus's mind.

His love's torso was laced with scars.

They varied in size and shape, but the worst of them had to be the outline of a cross that appeared to have been branded on his chest.

Gellert had never felt so horribly exposed. One of the first things he had ever taught himself was how to cast a spell to hide the scars. Even the people he'd been buck-naked with had never seen him truly bare.

"Please understand." He said, fighting to keep his voice steady, "I don't show you this because I want your pity."

Albus closed the distance between them, letting his fingers ghost over the marred flesh, coming to rest on that bastardized symbol of faith.

"Who did this?" His voice was quietly dangerous. Only twice before in his life had he been angry enough to kill: the first time, when his sister was attacked; the second, when his father was imprisoned for life unjustly.

And now…he would do the same thing his father done, when he found who did this. He would do _worse._ Torture them, make them bleed and beg and crawl before they died, and he would relish it.

"Don't waste your anger." Gellert said, as though he could read Albus's thoughts. "They're dead. They thought I was possessed by the devil and this is what they did. But I killed them. I killed them _when I was six years old_."

"I would kill them too as soon as look at them."

"I didn't kill them because they deserved it. I killed them because that is what I'd become, a killer. I took the life of an innocent man as well. He'd done nothing to me; he was trying to help me. What I'm trying to tell you is this: the inside matches the outside. I'm fucked up and full of hate and…and am I really the one you want, knowing that?"

"I love you." He reached out, but Gellert evaded his embrace yet again.

"Don't say that yet." He retrieved his shirt from where it had fallen and redid the buttons. "Think about it tonight; give it time to sink in"

"I could think about it forever. I'll still tell you the same thing."

"Humor me." He turned to go, but Albus grabbed his arm, holding him there. His anger, without having an object on which to focus, flooded him, made him bold and forward.

"Don't go."

"If I stay, I doubt either of us will do much thinking." He tried to pull his arm away, but Albus had a good grip.

"Stay and tell me. Give me every reason to change my mind. I'll listen. I'll humor you, as you put it. Just please stay."

Gellert knew he had lost at that point. It wasn't that Albus had physically prevented him from leaving, rater, had effetely stifled his resolve to go. Damn it, love was making him so weak already.

Standing behind him, still holding tightly to his arm, Albus only saw Gellert's shoulders slump slightly.

"Fine." He turned, regarding Albus with frank, tired eyes. "I'll tell you. Just understand it's not easy for me."

"Of course." Albus let go of his arm at last. "It might help you to tell it though. If there's one thing I regret learning it is how terrible secrets are."

"_Sehr wahr_." He said softly. "Very true. But like most secrets mine are quite tangled. It's hard to untie the knots in order to be understood." He turned and sat back down on the bed, motioning for Albus to sit beside him. This story would be long, and not easily told _or _heard.

"I guess it begins where I was born, some lonely little backwoods village in Eastern Europe. A few generations ago, a family of prominent Prussian wizards banished a squib daughter there. Squibs were considered a disgrace to a family in those days, most of them were killed. Anyway, she lived and died and had children, without revealing her secret to anyone."

"Your ancestress?"

"So I gather. I don't know for certain, just that a squib was banished there and then a couple of generations later you have my siblings and I. We all had magic in us, without ever knowing what it was or where it came from."

"Did no one ever look for you – for the squib's descendants, I mean?"

"No. It wasn't known outside the family that the squib child had even existed. My great-aunt only found out because she's spent a lot of time researching her family tree. The squib child wasn't the only skeleton she found in that closet, but that's beside the point.

"It started with my older brother, the oldest sibling in the family. The second-oldest sister was taken next, then the oldest. My younger sister went last, and by that time I'd gotten used to them disappearing and didn't think much of it. My father only said that God had taken them. I didn't understand what he meant; the notion in my mind was that God was the same thing as death."

"So they weren't actually dying?"

"Oh they were dying. Just not of natural causes. There was another baby at that point, another girl. My father complained about so many girls. But my mother died soon after, just wasted away from the sorrow of having all her children taken from her. The baby died too, with no one to nurse it. And then I was the last one left.

"I don't know what signs my siblings showed, to make people realize they were supernatural. For me, it began with a cat. She was a stray I would feed, and eventually she let me touch her, and I grew quite attached. She was the only one I had; my father was…not all there. I think the losses unbalanced him a little, although he accepted them as God's will like the pathetic little Christian he was. Or is. He might still be alive, I don't know or care.

"Anyway, I named the cat Beleka, after my baby sister, and she was my constant companion. But the world of humans is crueler than the world of nature." Throughout his narrative he had been somewhat detached, as if telling a story that had nothing to do with him, but now his face grew dark.

"One day some of the older boys of the village started hurting her. I don't know why, maybe they were just bored. And I think it amused them how much I wailed at them, and how little power I had to prevent it. All my protest only served to encourage them.

"They grew tired of it only when Beleka was not longer moving, not putting up any fight. They left, and I took her and ran away into the woods. I had this silly hope that God wouldn't find her there."

His eyes became distant, contemplative. "I don't know what I did, exactly. Even years later I've never heard of something quite like it. It was as if I…as if I just tookthe life from the surrounding land and put it into Beleka. And then she wasn't dying anymore, she was alive and well and I had my only friend back.

"The crops suffered a terrible blight that year, probably because of what I did. Come to think of it, when I went back a few months ago the fields still weren't thriving. If they had buried Beleka, the soil's fertility might have been restored, but that wasn't to happen."

"What did happen?" Albus was consumed with the desire to know, and yet certain he wasn't going to like what he found out.

"I'm getting there. You can imagine was said when they saw Beleka alive again, it was the same story they've been telling since the fucking inquisition: the witch, the familiar, the failed crops and superstition about curses and the devil. Word must have reached the nearby church, and then…"

He swallowed, and his next words were forcefully and deceptively emotionless.

"People – I'm not sure who exactly – came in the middle of the night and took me and Beleka to the church in a sack. Once there, the priest told me to confess my sins, that I practiced black arts and consorting with the devil, as if I had the slightest idea what any of that meant. And when I told him the truth, that I hadn't done anything, he took Beleka and threw her into the fire. I'll never forget the sound she made. He told me that would be my fate, if I did not repent."

His voice was still even, but he was clutching the fabric of the bedspread so hard his knuckles were white. Albus reached out and took one of Gellert's hands, holding it between his own.

"What followed were various attempts to 'exorcise me', the result of which are the scars you saw. I started to loose control, things would fly around the room and the temperature would drop and the windows would shatter; just a self-defense reflex manifesting itself through magic, but it didn't help me. There were other people there aside from the priest, inbred half-witted villagers turned witch hunters for the occasion, and everything supernatural that happened only encouraged them. I assume similar things had happened to my brothers and sisters before me, because none of it surprised them.

"Finally, when I was near death, something in me just…snapped." He motioned vaguely with his free hand. "All of the pain and despair I was feeling turned outwards, and then it was like a storm had been let out of me. I didn't fear it. I didn't fear anything, all my fear had left me and turned on them. But I sensed that I was in control, unlike the smaller outbursts before. And I tore them limb from limb like paper dolls. I was out of my mind, but I wasn't out of control, let me stress that. Although I didn't kill them with my own two hands, I was as responsible for their deaths as if I had."

"Consider it a mercy." Albus said. "If you had not killed them then, I would find them today and kill them in an even worse fashion." His voice was not angry; it was nothing less than matter-of-fact.

"Children are not meant to have the will to take human life, even if that life deserves to be taken. Besides, like I said, the death does not stop with them. The village had gained some fame – as much as any miserable bunch of shacks _can_ accrue fame – for paranormal happenings and demonic activities. Those were the rumors of muggles, and eventually the wizard government deigned to take notice. When the word went around that yet another child had been possessed, they sent two agents to check it out: Pavel Sorokin and Albrecht Weiss.

"They arrived when the blood was still fresh. Albrecht Weiss was the more compassionate of the two. When he saw the condition I was in, tried up and bleeding, he rushed to help me at once. And I woke up and looked at him, and knew he was not one of the ones who hurt me, and I still only wanted him to die. Sorokin would have gone the same way, but he was quicker. Stunned me while I was still concentrating on killing his partner.

"What happened next kind of figures; they took me and put me in an insinuation similar to your St, Mungo's, with a delicate mixture of spells and sedatives that suppressed my magic so much I was practically a muggle. Eventually my sanity returned to me, but it was impossible to undo what had been done. I played the part, fooled the doctors into thinking that I was mentally healthy and not a threat to anyone. They were wrong.

"I'm always on the edge of that madness. I recite the prayers they made me repeat when I'm under stress, as you saw in the graveyard. I've nearly killed people since, when I've lost control of myself. I don't mean to do it, but I don't regret it once it's been done.

"I'm not asking you to judge me, to tell me if I'm a monster or just a brutalized child. I know I'm both things: a victim and a mediated killer in turn. Do you still want me, knowing that? Even if you decide you still love me regardless, that's not enough. Just because two people care about each other and have the best of intentions, it's no promise that…it's no guarantee of anything."

"I still want you, and love you, and I promise that I always will."

"Don't just say it!" Gellert exclaimed, slightly distraught in the wake of his confession. "You're supposed to think about it first!"

"Shh, you'll wake my siblings. And there's nothing for me to think about. Even if I decide from this that I didn't _want_ to love you – which is not the case – I wouldn't have any choice in the matter. I love everything about you, even the things I hate. The dark magic, the scars, what you said to me about living in a cage…I want all of it; I love you, completely. Now tell me, are you too scared to handle that? Because you've done a good job of running away from it so far."

"Fool." He all but fell into Albus's waiting arms, holding onto him like a lifeline. "Your love means everything to me. I just wish I had more faith in it."

"You will. Even if it takes years, you will."

In spite of the tragedy he had just heard, Albus got slightly lost in how good it felt just to hold him, finally.

.

.

(I've had to go back and edit this bitch of a chapter three times. Sorry for spamming your inbox/alert thingies, I'm incompetent T_T. As always, thanks for reading.)


	15. Chapter 15

"I should get back." Gellert said, glancing towards the window. "It's got to be almost midnight."

"I don't want you to go."

He arched a brow. "Eager, aren't you?"

"That's not what I meant." Albus said quickly, shaking his head. "I just don't trust you not to change your mind about me overnight."

Gellert only wished he could say he would never do such a thing. All their talk of love had taken him wildly out of his comfort level, and part of him did in fact want to run away as fast as he could.

"Couldn't I change my mind even if I stay?"

"That's the point; I'd be here to change it back again."

He still looked doubtful, and Albus persisted. "I won't touch you, I promise. I just want you to stay." His eyes were beseeching. "You still seem ready to run."

Gellert inwardly cursed Albus's perceptiveness. What it that bloody obvious?

"Fair enough." What did it actually matter, if he slept one place or another? "But I'm not doing anything other than sleep."

Albus held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I spent eight hours leaning over a conveyor belt at work earlier. I'm tired too."

"And I'm no prude." He reached down and began unlacing his boots. "Under any other circumstances I'd shag your brains out, but something about recounting my childhood torture puts me out of the mood."

He kicked his boots off hap-hazardly onto the otherwise neat floor.

"It doesn't exactly, um, thrill me either."

Albus had no shoes to remove, so he busied himself with extinguishing the candles.

Darkness fell, and soon they lay quietly next to each other. It still didn't feel…_right_, to Gellert, he was still tense and on-edge. He was on the verge of deciding to leave again when he realized the anxiety in him had nothing to do with Albus and everything to do with the memories Gellert had dredged up on his account.

"I'm not sure I like having told you all that." He confessed. "Seems as though I've vomited something nasty for the world to see."

That was putting it lightly. He felt like his heart was filled with shit and his thoughts were steeped in poison and the world was a giant rotting madhouse so revolting it made the bile rise in his throat.

"Think about something else. Think about…what you'll do first when you obtain the Hallows."

"I'd make the Pope moon his congregation." Gellert said, with barely a moment's hesitation, causing Albus to burst out laughing.

"You could do that with the wand you have now. Not that I'm recommending it."

"I could do it with any wand, but it would take the Elder Wand to let me get away with it."

"True."

"Wait a minute." Gellert said, sitting up and turning to face Albus, though in the darkness there wasn't much to see.

"What's wrong?"

"I just realized you talked me down from leaving immediately to spending the night in your bed. How the hell did you do that?"

Albus laughed again. "They don't call me brilliant for nothing."

.

.

_He was alone in the dark. Alone with…something. A presence of pure hate and destruction, _was_ the endless darkness around him, so hugely powerful it made him and the planet he lived on seem like specks of dust. He was defenseless before it. He could not protect himself no matter how powerful he became, could not escape no matter how he struggled. It was God, and all he could do was fall on his knees and pray…_

'_Pater Noster…'_

The sound of Gellert's own voice woke him with a jolt. Dawn was rosy in the sky outside the window. He could hear the sounds of birds chirping outside; it was all that disturbed the soft morning silence. He wasn't alone in the dark at all.

He snuggled up to Albus's sleeping form, like he had with his sisters a lifetime ago. He wanted nothing less than to fill his soul with that moment. He only wished to be a clean slate, that he could get rid of every moment than had come before. Fuck it all, he wouldn't miss it.

_What have you gotten yourself into? _A small, insidious voice asked him. _You'll never be able to sleep alone again. _

_But I won't have to, will I? He loves me. Says he'll always be here. _

_What are words worth? _

Insecurity goaded him into action. He leaned up and gently kissed Albus on the forehead, moving down to his cheek, along the line of his jaw…when he reached his mouth, Albus kissed back, bringing up a hand to entwine in flaxen curls.

"Feel like waking up?" Gellert asked, pulling away only far enough to speak.

"To you, always."

When had he become such a fucking girl, to be charmed with sweet nothings whispered into his ear across a pillow? It gave him the reassurance he'd needed, and he leaned in for a more involved kiss.

Albus felt at risk of melting into a puddle of pure joy. He'd imagined this so often – and a lot more besides – and yet the reality of what it felt like to kiss him, to feel Gellert in his arms, so close and warm and willing, put his most vivid dreams to shame.

Aberforth chose that moment to rap on the door with a sound like a gunshot; Albus and Gellert jerked apart guilty. The minor locking charm Albus habitually placed on his bedroom door was likely the only thing that had prevented Aberforth from walking right in on them.

Albus untangled himself from the blankets and Gellert, tripping over one particularly tenacious sheet as he made his way to the door, carefully not opening it wide enough to reveal his bed or who was in it.

"Can I help you?" He asked his brother, trying to keep the irritation in his voice to a minimum. Not like Aberforth knew what he's been interrupting (although if he had known it probably wouldn't have stopped him.)

"It's your turn to fix breakfast."

"…And if I implored you to switch with me today?"

"What, top marks in potions and you can't manage to fix a meal?"

"Never mind. I'll be down soon." What could he say? 'Will you please leave me in peace while I snog Gellert into the mattress?'

He closed the door and leaned against it, looking at anything except Gellert, who looked just _too _tempting, with his shirt askew and lips still moist from kissing.

"Why didn't you tell him to fuck off?" He demanded, as soon as Aberforth's footsteps had retreated down the hall.

"He'd only bang on the door until I came out."

"Ought to bang on his obstreperous behind with a switch. It's what they did to us at Durmstrang when we shot our mouths off."

"And look what a rule-abiding young man it made you…?"

Gellert smiled reluctantly. "Of course. Are you suggesting I'm not the paradigm of virtue?"

"Not when I'm finished with you." Albus felt his face burn as he realized what he'd said.

"Hurry up with breakfast then."

.

.

(A/N When I wrote the part about them kissing I was actually too embarrassed to read what I was writing...which led to a lot of hilarious typos that I hope I fully corrected -_-' Alas for me, it's only going to get worse...)


	16. Chapter 16

Gellert ended up assisting in the preparation of breakfast, with the logic that two people would accomplish the task more quickly. Aberforth, coming in from the back yard with a tin of goat milk in one hand, surveyed Gellert with a less-than-thrilled expression.

"What're you doing here?"

"Certainly not cooking." Gellert shot back acerbically as he broke an egg over a bowl. He pictured the egg as possessing Aberforth's face, having not forgiven him for his earlier interruption.

"I can see that. Why are you in our kitchen at the crack of dawn?"

"Because I choose to be."

"Were you invited?"

"Were _you _invited?"

"What?"

"What?" Argue with a fool on his own level, Gellert figured.

"Stop it."

"Stop it."

"I am a girly German fop who can't figure out how to use a portkey correctly."

"While I, on the other hand, am Prussian."

"Oh sod off you bloody –"

"You're both behaving like children." Albus said disapprovingly from where he stood at the counter measuring flour into yet another bowl.

"May I have a word with you? In _private?" _Aberforth said, in a tone that spelled trouble for his brother.

.

.

"Aberforth, I know you don't like him –" Albus began, once they were in the living room with the door to the kitchen shut behind them. Aberforth held up one hand, stopping Albus mid-sentence.

"It's not about what _I _think of him. Have you forgotten about your sister? Do you want to make it impossible for Ariana to eat at her own table?"

"I was hoping she could learn to tolerate him."

"He's the most intolerable person I've ever met!"

"That's because you provoke him!"

"Why are you taking his side? He started it!"

"Regardless." Albus said, taking a deep breath and lowering his voice. "I don't see the harm in trying."

"You don't see because you don't want to. He's bad news, Albus, and I think he's the last person Ariana should be exposed to."

"You don't know him!" Albus snapped, his temper flaring again. "Who are you to judge what kind of person he is?"

"Right now, I am one of two other people who have to share this house with you. And I say, for Ariana's sake as well as mine, that he can't stay."

"Fine. If that's the way you want it."

"It's not the way _I _want it. That's the way it is."

.

.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave."

"Why? I'm helping."

"I'm sorry. Let me walk you home; I'll explain."

Gellert glanced from one Dumbledore brother to the other. A glimpse of something cold and truly frightening showed in his eyes when he looked at Aberforth. Then he turned on his heel and marched out the door.

.

.

Unbeknownst to the three boys, Ariana had overheard every word of their conversation. She was so tired of her name being used as a point of contention between her brothers. She knew they had troubles of their own to solve; ill-feelings between them that were as old as she was, or older. She couldn't _make_ them get along, but now it seemed she was actually making things worse.

Lately, it seemed like she did nothing but make things worse.

.

.

"What did he do?" Gellert demanded, as soon as they were both outside. "If he said something to hurt you I swear to Merlin I'll hurt him worse!"

"Easy." Albus said, taken aback at Gellert's anger. "He _is_ my brother."

"Yes, and because of that you let him treat you like shit." He leaned forward, eyes flashing. "It's because I stayed the night, isn't it? He has some backwards, muggle notion that it's wrong for –"

"No, that's not it, Gel. He either doesn't know or doesn't care about…you and me. Probably both." He added with a slight sigh. "It's because of my sister. I told you what happened to her, and…she doesn't handle strangers well. He was right in asking you to leave, I'm afraid."

Albus felt guilty as he said it. Aberforth _was _right; Albus was being neglectful of his sister's needs.

"Maybe he was right, but he's using it as an excuse to act like a prick."

"Such are the ways of siblings." He said, shrugging.

"You make me not miss mine."

"I miss mine. Would you believe we were close once, Aberforth and I?"

"No." Gellert said vehemently.

"It's true. He'd never admit it now but we were once friends. I think he even looked up to me. And I was a terrible disappointment."

"What, because you have aspirations that go beyond raising goats?"

"No. Because I had aspirations. And I made it very clear that they were more important than him."

_No, I can't' play quidditch with you right now. _

_No, I won't help you with your potions homework. _

_No, I'll not be coming home for Christmas. It's a very crucial time in my education right now and I can't be distracted. _

"I pushed him away over and over. Until the rift between us grew so big he never reached out to me anymore. And then it was easy for me to ignore the state of things, until now."

"You've made mistakes." Gellert said as they reached the front door of the Bagshot residence. "And you're trying to amend them. It's not ideal, but what more can you do?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all, and that's the whole problem. He won't give me another chance. It seems he's given me too many already."

"Oh come on, it's not like you tried to _kill _him. People have managed to get over worse."

It was difficult for Gellert to understand Albus's position. In a way, Albus was mourning the loss of a sibling when he mourned the state of his relationship with Aberforth – because Albus _had _lost him, even though he was still alive.

But what could that mean to Gellert, who had lost so many siblings already; had gotten so _used to_ the loss that in fact he hardly noticed it anymore? He didn't know how to value someone as family in spite of flaws or difficulties.

And Gellert didn't like things he didn't understand.

"I hope that will prove to be the case for my brother and me. In any case, I should get back to him."

"No kiss goodbye?" He didn't quite have to feign being stung.

He got the kiss, and that one kiss turned into two, which turned into many, and it was beginning to seem impossible for Albus to pull himself away…

He had kissed only one person prior to Gellert. The previous Christmas he had spent at school. He had done his share of celebrating, but there was considerably more celebration amongst his fellow Gryffindors.

It was on such an occasion of festivity that a certain girl – she _was _in the house for the brave, after all – managed, in a slightly tipsy state of boldness, to break down all the subtle barriers Albus crafted around himself and had, basically, snogged the hell out of him.

It had seemed like nothing so much as the girl trying to lick his tonsils. The experience had made him question whether he would ever get used to a tongue, be it a man's or a woman's, writhing around in his throat.

Kissing Gellert was nothing like that. He was as skilled with his mouth as he was with a wand; turning a simple kiss into an act of pure bliss that could fill moments on end, when Albus had always thought such a thing would grow boring almost at once.

"Why not stay with me?" Gellert whispered against his lips. "My great-aunt is gone; we'll have the house to ourselves. No one to bang on the door and interrupt."

"He'll be furious if I don't come back."

"He's hardly _pleasant _as it is. You're not the only one whose actions have consequences."

"...it's not Ariana's fault Aberforth is being…difficult, but I'd be leaving her too."

"Will it make much difference to her if she eats food prepared by his hands rather than yours? Or is he as poor a cook as he is a host?"

"He's…decent. As much as I am." Neither brother was exactly a wonderful cook, being forced to take up the art suddenly and out of necessity when their mother died.

"Then stay. Let him fix breakfast in solitude if it's so important to him."

Wasn't that what Aberforth wanted, what he had been trying to tell Albus all along? They he didn't want his brother's help, or even his presence. Aberforth didn't want any part of him.

What he needed – what they all needed, and it hurt almost unbearably to admit it – was a parent. Someone who loved them and yet had authority over them. Someone to make them go to their separate corners and play nice when they were fighting and make them see that their troubles weren't as big as they made them out to be.

That's why he followed Gellert inside. His only wish, childish, cowardly, was for someone to take away the pain.

Unfortunately, such feelings didn't lend themselves to passion. Even as Gellert pulled him down onto his bed, he realized it wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to act adult – to do that act that was _most _adult – when he felt like nothing more than a lonely child.

"I can't." Albus pulled away, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head bowed in shame and confusion.

"Fine." Gellert sat next to him, but didn't look at him. "Go back to your brother then, if that's what you want."

"You're what I want."

"It doesn't seem that way."

"Gel…"

"Leave. Don't drag it out. Just go."

Albus dissaperated from the bedroom, but not back to his own house. He couldn't bring himself to face Aberforth's reaction to his being away for so long. And now he wasn't welcome with Gellert either.

He transported himself away from the room, the house, the village, just away.

Ironic; when he had to choose between his lover and his family, he ended up alone.

.

.

Long after Albus had departed, Gellert sat motionless, staring into space as though hypnotized. His stillness utterly belied what lay beneath the surface: a turmoil of anger and ice-cold jealousy so intense it astonished even him.

Jealous. Yes, he was jealous of Aberforth. Jealous of anyone that Albus loved in any way, aside from himself. He even resented the sorrow Albus felt about his brother. His envy made of him a starving monster, longing to devour any part of his love's heart that did not already belong to him.

Being the introspective sort, he was aware of this ugly jealousy, that it made him ugly too. But just because we understand something doesn't mean we have the power to control it.

In that moment, he _hated _Albus for loving anyone else but him, even if it was a sibling.

And that hate terrified him.

What kind of horror was he becoming for love's sake? He was a creature made of coldness bitterness and anger. He feared, as he had from the beginning, that it was wrong of him to try to love. Maybe that love would become as dark as the rest of him.

A tap on the window startled him, although true to form nothing of his reaction showed. He turned, slowly and in a trance-like state, to see Boreas outside the window. He frowned slightly. Whatever Albus had to say to him he didn't want to hear right now. If it was an apology he knew he didn't deserve it, and if it was in anger…he probably deserved that but he still didn't want it.

Nonetheless he walked over to the window and opened it, accepting the letter from the bird. What he found therein left him speechless.

_Please don't let Aberforth deter you. His heart is in the right place even if his temper gets in the way. I honestly believe that Albus needs you more than we need him. _

He stared at the letter as though it would explain itself. Boreas lingered on the windowsill.

Finally, Gellert turned over the page and wrote on the unmarked side:

_You seem to know a thing or two about me and my situation here, and yet I know nothing of you. Why so mysterious, Ariana? _

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_._

(A/N Happy thanksgiving, and thank you all for the wonderful reviews! So yes, Ariana is getting a presence in the story at last; I haven't forgotten her! Um...also, taking this time to shamelessly hawk myself, I have some drawings of these characters if you're curious as to how I picture them (Tony Regbo resembles my mental image of a young Albus about as much as a cantaloupe resembles Mt. Rushmore). I'm not the best artist but it shouldn't make your eyes bleed. I haven't bothered to scan any of them yet, but by next chapter I should have a few posted on my DA account. I'll attach the link next time, for whoever is interested_. _Thanks for reading!) _  
_


	17. Chapter 17

(A/N As promised/threatened in the last chapter, here is the link to my DA account, minus spaces, where I am slowly accumulating sketches of these characters:

http :/ nocluekid90 .deviantart .com/

I am a better author than I am an artist *hides*)

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.

Boreas had quite the workout that afternoon, ferrying letters back and forth between the Bagshot house and the Dumbledore house incessantly.

.

.

_There isn't much to know about me._ Wrote Ariana._ This house, town, and my brothers are my whole world. I like to be aware of what happens concerning all of them._ _I know Albus hasn't been happy until you came along, and I am so very weary of the ones I love being unhappy because of me. _

_.  
_

_He loves you as well as me._Gellert responded after some thought._ How could he be happy while you are not? _

_.  
_

_Maybe he can learn to be happy in spite of me. I hope the same for both my brothers. But this isn't about me. I overhear a lot that go on in my house; don't let my fear of strangers keep you from Albus, and don't let Aberforth's fierce protection of me daunt you. _

_.  
_

_Your selflessness shames me. _

_May I be frank, my dear stranger? Your brother has told me the bare facts of your condition and the reasons behind it. I know this is a secret to you; please don't be mortified. I'll tell you a secret of my own. The truth is, something very similar happened to me when I was young. I was targeted by muggles because they recognized something supernatural in me, and I still bare the scares, physically and mentally, of what befell me as a result. _

_It troubles me, to hear (read?) you speak of your condition here with so little hope. The truth is, I never had much hope either until I met your brother, although I never realized how hopeless I was until after the fact. We've never met, and yet I feel close to you in this, the pain we've both survived and the scars we still have. And yet in spite of everything you're far more compassionate than I. _

_Am I crazy to pour my heart out to a stranger in a letter? Do you feel any affinity for me, upon reading this? _

_.  
_

_Gelert – that is your name, isn't it? _

_Forgive the long delay of my letter. It terrifies me to be exchanging such private things with a stranger. There have never been strangers in my live before you; it's more daunting than you can imagine. _

_Don't be so quick to assume we're very similar. If we're going to spill our guts in a letter, I may as well reveal the worst secret of all. You know enough to send me to St. Mungo's anyway; why not? _

_I killed my mother. That is the blatant truth. My brothers will make excuses for me; mother herself probably would make excuses for me if she could, but she lived, and died, sheltering my fragile existence. _

_I didn't mean to kill her. It was an accident in the truest sense of the word. But I did. There is no excuse, as much as the ones who love me might wish there is. _

_Do you still feel what you call an 'affinity' for me, knowing that? _

_.  
_

_Do I still feel an affinity for you? More than ever. (And yes, Gellert is my name; Gellert Grindelwald). _

_I have blood on my hands too. I have taken lives, including the life of a man who did no wrong by me, and I have inflicted pain on many others. I cannot even say that it was an accident; I meant to do what I did. You needn't fear me; it was under rather extreme circumstances. Nonetheless, I take responsibility for it. _

_So yes, I feel connected to you, because of our shared guilt beyond anything. _

_Let me say though, in my opinion, that if your mother's death was truly not intentional than you mustn't blame yourself. If there's one thing that the study of magic has taught me, it's that the will behind an action makes all the difference. Sorrow can easily become guilt; you must not let it. There is enough sorrow in your family without you blaming yourself. _

_.  
_

_From anyone else, I would hate to hear that I'm not responsible for my actions. I don't want to be seen as some thoughtless invalid – but on the other hand I don't want to be considered a murderer. _

_But I suppose I _must _listen to what you say, if we have so much in common. Still, my guilt goes beyond the death of my mother. She carried a heavy burden for years because of me. Aberforth drives himself mad trying to make up to me the life I might have had but cannot. And Albus must resent me – what have I cost him, by needing supervision? The very world! He might have had it all in his hands, but his familial duty forces him to stay here with my brokenness and Aberforth's bitterness. Aside from my poor, beloved mother, I feel worst of all for Albus._

.  


_He doesn't resent you. The situation I'm sure is very odious to him, but it is no one's fault, and that includes you. _

_Besides, if he was not here, I would never have met him, would I? The world is always there for the finding, but one single person might never be found even if you search the world over. That is worth a great deal to me, and (hopefully) it means as much to him. _

_.  
_

_You love each other, don't you? Romantically, I mean. Just want to clarify._

_.  
_

_Yes. Does that bother you?_

_.  
_

_Certainly not. I mean, I didn't know two boys could be, but now that I think about it I don't see why not. Are you going to be my brother-in-law?_

_.  
_

Gellert's eyes stung as he read her latest letter, although he refused to let tears fall for such a little thing. Brother-in-law? Not with the way he'd left things with Albus; hell no.

He had been petty in his jealous insecurities. And here was this girl, younger and more broken than him, and yet she had such a selfless nature.

A lot like her eldest brother in that regard.

He couldn't let things stand like this, not for one moment longer. He penned a hasty reply:

_After knowing him barely a month, I think it's too soon to hope. _

_On a totally unrelated note, where does your brother work? _

_.  
_

.

A very unsatisfactory morning with Gellert had led to an even less satisfactory afternoon and evening at work for Albus.

He was granted an unexpected reprieve, however, when thick black smoke began to billow from an indiscernible source, and the workers were let off early due to safety regulations and the fact that no one could actually see.

He exited the factory in a throng of the other workers, talking amongst themselves (but not to him) as they made there way up the street and gradually diverged in different directions.

For Albus it was simply a matter of finding a place far enough from muggle witnesses that no one would see him vanish.

As he walked up the dark, industrial London street, he wasn't sure if he was surprised to see Gellert leaning nonchalantly against a lamp post, or if he'd expected to see him there all along.

"Problem at the workplace?" Gellert inquired in an offhand way.

"Yes." Albus frowned. "Mysterious smoke billowing from a source no one could fix or even find. I'd say it was almost like magic, if I didn't know better."

They were still within muggle earshot, after all.

"Well, you know, don't worry over it. If it appeared like magic I'm sure it'll soon disappear the same way. You won't miss much work in future."

A mixed blessing, that.

"Why are you here?" He assumed Gellert had some reason for trekking all the way to London and disrupting the muggle world in a way that could lead to his arrest.

Gellert glanced from one side to another. The street appeared deserted now, aside from the two of them.

"I'm sorry." He forced himself to meet Albus's strikingly blue eyes. "I didn't treat you like I should. Please forgive me."

Albus stepped forward, placing a gentle kiss on Gellert's lips.

"There's nothing to forgive. I'm not angry with you."

"Maybe you should be. This is why I thought twice about being with you. I'm selfish by nature, and it's difficult for me to share you, even with your siblings – isn't that horrible?"

"After being alone for so long, you are perhaps entitled to some selfishness."

"I will try to get better though, because I love you."

"That's the first time you said it."

"Another thing that's difficult for me."

"It's okay. I love you regardless."

.

.

Upon arriving home, Gellert discovered yet another letter from Ariana.

_I'd like to meet you. But it's very difficult for my to meet strangers. Can you indulge my paranoia? _

To which he responded:

_Anything for you, my dear potential sister-in-law. _

.

_._

(A/N Haven't slept...in...so long...No one is awake to proofread so forgive me if this chapter it fraught with errors. It's not much of a chapter anyway. Perhaps a disappointment for those who want to see Gellert as a villain right off the bat. I see him as being corrupted by the power that he gains later) _  
_


	18. Chapter 18

(A/N: This story is rated M for a reason. This chapter is the reason. If you have tender sensibilities tread carefully with this one.)

.

.

As Gellert read and responded to Ariana's latest letter, Albus ran his hands under warm water in the next room, diligently scraping the black grit of work out from under his fingernails. His eyes strayed to those of his reflection in the mirror. An attractive face, he told himself, although rather bookish. And he would never feel exactly great about his long nose.

There had to be something in his looks that Gellert found appealing though, and that was what mattered.

He was as nervous as though he were going in for a particularly significant final exam. Maybe he should wait, start fresh tomorrow after a long day. He wavered. Gellert had definitely wanted him that morning, but then they'd had that tiff…

And they'd made up. Gellert had come all the way to London to say he was sorry, even. There was no way he was still upset.

Hell, it might upset him all over again if Albus _didn't _try something. After shooting him down, to show Gellert he was still interested was probably the only advisable thing to do.

…Right?

_You're thinking too much, Albus. If he wants to, he wants to, if not…well, I've waited this long. _

For some reason, he felt as though he ought to have a shot of whiskey to toss back. In lieu of that, he rinsed his mouth, ran his damp fingers though his hair, and opened the door.

.

.

Gellert stood facing the window with his back to the door. When Albus appeared in the doorway reflected in the darkened glass, he slipped the letter deftly into his pocket. He wasn't quite sure why he chose to keep it secret. His connection with Ariana just seemed so…tenuous; as though it might break if he spoke of it out loud, even to Albus.

"Tell me more about your sister." He said, staring past the room reflected on the glass and out into the dark night.

"Hm?" It wasn't the topic Albus had had in mind.

"You know – reclusive, touched – aside from that I know nothing about her."

"She's…well, she's a very sweet girl. Sheltered obviously, but not ignorant." He took a seat on the bed, elaborating. "She reads – it's the only thing she _can _do, and from that she learns about the world. But books are no substitute for the real thing."

"Of course." Gellert turned to face Albus, half-leaning, half-sitting against the windowsill. "And she's bad with strangers, you said?"

"At best she clams up and at worst she has a fit and things or people get damaged."

"Is there a way to accommodate introducing her to a stranger?"

"Yes…it helps if she knows of them before she meets them. But frankly there have been so few people she's met, I don't know of many common factors." He shook his head. "Aberforth could probably tell you what makes her comfortable and what scares her far better than I ever could. I've neglected her as much as him in my time at school."

"You were living your life. There's no shame in that."

Albus wasn't sure he agreed fully, but it was so nice to hear kind words from someone. And it was a hundred times better if that someone happened to be Gellert.

"I don't want to talk about my family right now. I'm sorry. May we discuss them later?"

"Tired?"

"No." He met Gellert's eyes. "I'm not tired at all."

Gellert understood, and tilted his head to one side, smiling playfully. "Oh come on, I've seen you after work before. You'll be asleep in five minutes."

"Great. That leaves four minutes to spare."

Gellert laughed, leaving his perch by the windowsill to where Albus sat on the bed. He felt the tension coil in his stomach as Gellert approached him. His movements were without show or feigned poise; the natural grace intrinsic to him spoke for itself.

The look in his eyes was enough to make the breath catch in Albus's throat, and when Gellert slipped one slender leg over his hips, straddling his lap, his thoughts came to a screeching halt, not unlike cars crashing into one another when one amongst their line stops unexpectedly.

"Do you have some other idea of how to pass the time?" Gellert purred. "Nothing improper, I trust?"

Gellert had him on a string like a marionette, and was having just a bit too much fun. In some distant corner of his mind Albus recognized this, and couldn't care less.

Without waiting for a response, he brought their lips crashing together. He assaulted Albus's mouth first, then worked his way downward, kissing, sucking and nipping gently – or not-so-gently at times. But the tiny flares of pain only enhanced Albus's pleasure and desire. He hadn't known his neck could be so sensitive; nerve endings he'd never been aware of were awakened by Gellert's ministrations. It was as though every sensation Albus had known before had been experienced through thick wool sheets, his flesh had been asleep until Gellert was there to set it on fire.

Albus also reveled in being able to do his share of exploring. With one arm encircling Gellert's waist, he brought the other hand around, experimentally tracing a sharp hipbone with his fingertips. Then down his thigh and up again, caressing, and hesitantly across the curve of his backside. It was perhaps this hesitance that caused Gellert to pull away and ask,

"Are you a virgin?"

The question took a moment a moment to register in his mind. Then it _did_, and his response contained pieces of several words, yet failed to form even one.

Gellert laughed, although it was not unkind. "I'll take that as a yes." He smiled, leaning so close his breath was hot and wet against Albus's ear. "I like that." _Lick_. "Maybe it's hypocritical of me." _Kiss_. "I like that I'm the only one to be with you this way." _Nip._ "The one to take your innocence." _Suck_. "Make you a man or whatever you want to call it." _Lick_.

The treatment of his ear was pushing him over the edge. Every part of him was quivering with anticipation, and he had the tormented thought that he wouldn't last much longer if things continued as they were.

"Ah…I might not…you…" He bit his lip, determined not to babble like an idiot. "I might not know enough to…give you what you want."

"Don't worry, mein Lieber." Gellert kissed him gently, and then slipped from his lap with feline grace to kneel between his legs.

"We'll start slowly."

There was nothing that could be called coherent thought in his mind when he realized what Gellert was doing, just a wordless and intense _I-cannot-believe-my-luck_ type of feeling.

Gellert undid Albus's belt and pants with deft fingers, drawing the most private part of him, making a small sound of approval. "He's of a respectable size. Not surprising, since you yourself are so tall."

He ran a finger up it from base to tip, following the motion of his finger with quick, light swipes of his tongue.

"Please, Gel."

Those feather-light touches were driving him mad.

"Please, what?"

He was having _far_ too much fun with this.

"Please, take me in your mouth."

"Ah, why didn't you say so?"

He then swallowed the throbbing organ almost down to the hilt. Albus bit back a moan that was almost a shout. The sensations almost undid him. Just to watch that pretty mouth take him in was almost too much to bear…

His hips bucked involuntarily, and Gellert shot him a look that said, quite clearly, _don't do that._ It was just a little unreasonable how threatening he could look with a cock in his mouth.

He began bobbing his head rhythmically, pausing every now and again to swirl his tongue around the head or trace the veins that ran along the underside.

Albus utilized the only strategy known to him, doing his best to focus on something un-erotic – counting the stitches on the hem of Gellert's pillow, in this case. But it was too much pleasure for his inexperienced body to endure for long, and after far too short a time he moaned something of a warning to Gellert, who continued to suck, and finally, swallowed, as the most powerful orgasm Albus had ever known shuddered through him.

Gellert stood, light-headed with desire, and joined Albus on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

"Show me what you've learned." His voice was breathless, reaching the end of his ability to hold back. He beckoned Albus forward with a curl of his index finger.

He was the very image of temptation: breathing heavily, face flushed, eyes half-lidded and glassy with need.

Albus complied eagerly, ripping off Gellert's belt and sending it flying into the far reached of the guest room somewhere, before yanking his zipper down and taking his dripping erection in his hand. He gave it a few experimental pumps, familiarizing himself, enjoying the way Gellert's breath caught in his throat, at the sight of him spread out on the bed like Albus had hardly dared to imagine.

Then he lowered his head, wrapping his lips around Gellert's aching need, taking in as much as possible. He experimented with how far he could get it down his throat before his gag reflex kicked in. He supposed it was an acquired skill but it was nonetheless one he intended on mastering.

Then he began to tease as he had been, tantalizing the weeping slit, swiping across the crown. Gellert practically screamed in pleasure and frustration.

"Harder…meine Liebe, bitte...!"

Gellert buried his fingers greedily in the rich, auburn hair, pulling Albus back down onto himself. His grip was tight to the point of pain, but Albus didn't mind it. As much pleasure as he had felt earlier, it was a close second to give back some of the same. He felt immense satisfaction when Gellert moaned under his attention, arching his back and whispering Albus's name like a prayer.

"I-I'm almost…" Gellert's hands flew to the bedspread on either side of him for fear of ripping out handfuls of his lover's hair. His body seized up and he cried out his pleasure for the empty house to hear.

Then he collapsed, limp as a rag doll. Albus crawled up beside Gellert, pulling him close and kissing him very tenderly. They lay in each other's arms quietly for a while, basking in the languid glow of post-orgasmic bliss.

"So, do I pass?" Albus asked, after untold minutes had crept by in peaceful silence.

"Hm?"

"You said to show you what I've learned. Did I pass the test?"

"Yes." Gellert snickered, mischievous once again. "You get an A plus like you always do, you fucking goody-two-shoes, and with a generous offer for a summer internship."

"What if I want a more permanent position?"

"Don't be crazy; I haven't even begun to teach you positions yet."

It would be difficult for anyone to be as happy as Albus was, in that moment.

.

.

(A/N I have a new respect for authors of erotica. This was quite literally the most difficult thing I have ever written outside of academia. But I had to write it, because in my opinion a love story is not complete without the culmination of a sex scene. Romantic love generally=sex, sooner or later, one way or another. Face it. Embrace it. A public thanks to Mergoat for helping me with this one, you are the bravest heterosexual man I've ever known! And a big, all-encompassing thanks to everyone who has been giving me such wonderful reviews, I treasure each one! Thanks for reading!)


	19. Chapter 19

(A/N Just want to say that Gellert's views on religion and the religious do not reflect my own.)

.

.

It was with remorse that Gellert sat up and nudged Albus awake. He had looked so peaceful and content lying there, but…

"You should go. Bagshot comes back from England tomorrow and she might ask awkward questions."

"I don't care." Albus reached up and tried to pull Gellert back into his arms. Let the whole world ask awkward questions of them. He was floating on air, so far above worry he could look down and laugh at it.

"You will in the morning." Gellert said, evading the embrace. He slapped Albus's face very lightly – more of a _pat-pat-pat_ – as his mother used to do to wake her children in the morning. "Up. Now. Don't make me use ice water."

Albus, fully awake now but still groggy, had no choice but to sit up, rub his eyes and straighten his clothes and hair. He realized with slight disappointment that his shoes hadn't even come off. He promised himself that the next time would be more…well, just more.

"I for one don't care if she suspects anything." He said, as Gellert searched the room for wherever his belt had been flung to.

"You know how she gossips. If she suspects, _everyone _will suspect. And while it doesn't matter to me, it'll probably matter to you once you come out of your post-coital haze – oh there it is."

The guest bedroom had a white dresser with a vanity-style mirror atop it, and that was where the belt had ended up, hanging like a snake over the frame and threatening to be a nuisance by falling behind the heavy piece of furniture.

Gellert seized it and threaded it back through his belt loops where it belonged. He had been looked down upon nearly all his life – for his lack of family, lineage and money to begin with, and as he got older for his trashy reputation. Was Albus prepared to have the world look at him and scoff? Gellert didn't think so.

He turned, holding one hand out to Albus. "C'mon. I'll walk you home."

.

On his porch, Albus enveloped Gellert in a long embrace. It was all he wanted at that moment to hold him and not let go, to feel him near all night and wake up to him in the morning.

"Someday, will we have a place where I can wake up next to you without fear of what will be said?"

"Of course. In the world we build together, love will not be judged by such petty standards."

.

On his way home, Gellert paused to stare up at the Dumbledore household. A single lit window caught his eye and made him pause.

He recognized Albus's window, it was dark. Aberforth's room was across the hall. That meant the lit window must belong to Ariana…?

He hesitated, gazing up at the yellow-orange light as though entranced. Then he reached a decision, dashing the short distance back to his great-aunt's house and up to the guest room he now occupied.

On a fresh piece of parchment, he wrote the following message:

_We can meet tonight, if you are feeling brave? I'll wait for a while by your front door, come down and see me if you wish. If not, we'll plan for another time. _

He carefully folded the letter into a paper airplane, and then returned to his previous position underneath Ariana's window. He whispered an obscure and complicated incantation that would aid the trajectory of the paper projectile in its flight to the second story window, and then threw it.

It glided gracefully up, soaring neatly through the open window.

.

He waited by the door a long time, counting seconds and looking at the stars. It wasn't cold out, so he didn't mind waiting, although anticipation made him anxious. He was incredibly curious about this girl, so reclusive and yet so articulate. Fate had been cruel to her and yet she was kind enough to lose one of her two remaining family members if it meant he would be happy.

After about ten minutes, he decided that she wasn't turning up. He had just started down the porch steps when he heard the front door creek behind him.

A skinny colt of a girl; at fourteen Ariana was almost as tall as he was. The resemblance to her older brother was striking, stunningly blue eyes and high cheekbones and the long nose quintessential of the Dumbledore family.

Gellert had felt empathy for her in their letters, and it was partly due to her resemblance to Albus that made him love her as soon as he laid eyes on her.

"Nice to meet you in person." He said, approaching her and extending his hand. She flinched slightly, but extended her own nonetheless.

"This is generally where you say it's nice to meet me too…?" Gellert prompted, when Ariana remained mute.

"Yes, yes it is – I'm sorry. I'm so unpracticed at all this. Meeting people, you know – um, would you like to come inside?"

.

"You're different than I imagined you would be." Ariana said, as they sat opposite each other in the living room.

"How so?"

"I thought…well, I expected a younger, male version of Bathilda I guess."

Gellert was unable to stop himself from laughing. "So I'm not? That's reassuring."

"Oh goodness yes. She treats me as though I'm five years old or younger; a baby that couldn't possibly understand anything."

"When in reality you understand things she cannot, not the other way around. You've seen a side of the world that most people like to pretend is not real."

Her face darkened and she looked away. "I hope we can find other things in common than that."

"I hope not."

"Why?"

"I, um, haven't led the most…admirable life."

She smiled, eyes twinkling impishly. "Tell me."

"You don't want to know that."

"I do so. All I ever hear about is how much Aberforth hates school, how good Albus is at school, how much Aberforth hates that Albus is good at school, how much Albus hates that Aberforth hates…you get the idea."

"All too clearly. It must be hell living with that all the time."

She shrugged. "I don't know anything else."

"What do you do for fun around here anyway?"

She laughed, though it was slightly bitter. "Fun. Well, there was the time the goats got out, and Abe and Al had to chase them all around the village because the un-gelded males would charge people."

Gellert snorted. "And aside from releasing angry goats on an unsuspecting town?"

"…We could play chess?"

"I've no idea how to play. Maybe we should let the goats out."

"No no, you should let me teach you! Al is so good he always wins and Abe won't play with me."

She got up and removed a handsome but well-worn chess set from the bookshelf.

And thus, Gellert unwittingly submitted himself to two hours of getting his ass handed to him, by a fourteen year old, no less.

.

"So tell me about your un-admirable life."

"No, I won't let you distract me." Gellert said, hunched over the board in concentration. "I might have a chance with this round."

"You don't." Ariana said quietly.

"Well fuck it then." He leaned back. "So, un-admirable things I have done: do you want the offensive, the sexual or the criminal?"

"Um…all of them?" She said with a slightly guilty grin.

"You'll be here a while."

"I can't go anywhere else." She pointed out in a slightly sardonic tone.

"Fair enough." He shrugged. "You know what confessionals are?"

"Kind of…"

"Those boxes that muggles sit in and confess their sins through a screen to a Priest who then absolves them."

"Why would they do that?"

"The idea is that God will be mad at you unless you confess and get a priest to forgive you. You do know what God is?"

"A big man that lives in the sky, who made the world and holds muggles to certain standards of behavior?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Anyway, muggles are terrified of anything supernatural, and religious muggles are the most terrified muggles of all." The look on his face was very grim for a moment, but it was replaced by a smirk. "I hate religious muggles. So I would go in and pretend to be possessed by a demon. It scared the shit out of them, every time."

"Wouldn't they guess you were faking?"

"Oh no, I can be quite convincing."

He sat up straight, making his body completely ridged. His limbs began to twitch, he rolled his eyes up as far as they would go and let his neck loll about at a limp, grotesque angle. His posture was such that every movement he made looked unnatural.

Then he gasped, and let himself fall forward onto the chess board, sending pieces scattering. He drew a rattling breath, and then he raised one hand, pointing it at Ariana and wheezed in an odd voice:

"_Lucifer is watching you…he says your soul will burn…_"

Ariana threw a pillow at him. "Stop it! I believe you; now cut it out!"

"See?" He said, sitting up. "And you knew I was faking it. Anyway I would do all that and more besides. Snarl and convulse and talk about the crimes Satan had me commit. More than once they were so panicked they fled the church screaming."

"Why do you hate them so much?" Ariana said, beginning to return the chess pieces to their starting positions. "They're only silly muggles. Maybe a bit delusional, but still…"

"…What they did to me, they did in the name of God."

Silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room seemed thunderously loud. She needed no further explanation; they both knew all too well what he meant.

"How do you move on from that?" Ariana's voice was small.

"I wish I could tell you. Wish I could say there was a way to make it alright, as though nothing terrible had ever happened. But it did."

"You can live in the world. That's more than I can say."

"I'm at war with the world. When everyone is pleasantly blind to so much horror, I've had my eyes opened to it irrevocably. In that way I'm a slave to my past as much as you are. But while you chose defense, I chose aggression, to hurt before anyone could hurt me."

"I hurt people too. The difference is, I hurt only the ones who love me."

She knocked over the queen chess piece with a finger. "I took my mother's life when I lost control of myself like an animal."

"Aberforth gave up his life for me out of love when he makes me the center of his world, to the exclusion of all others." She knocked down a knight.

"Now I'm taking Albus's life, day by day, when I'm too damn ruined to even live the life that cost so much." Another knight.

"And my father wasted away in prison, avenging me because he couldn't defend me." The king fell. She was eerily calm.

"The destruction of my whole family." Chess pieces lying in disarray. "It all comes back to me."

"Stop it!" Gellert pushed the chessboard onto the floor with a clatter. "You didn't choose to be savagely attacked when you were hardly more than a baby! Muggle ignorance and violence are to blame, not you! I know your family's life is a sad story – the _world_ is a sad story. No single person can take the burden of that fully on themselves."

"So I'm a victim then? A helpless victim."

"Only as long as you blame yourself. When you do that, you're letting them win. You're carrying on their hatred after they themselves are gone – that is the one and only crime you are guilty of."

"I wish they'd killed me." She gave a choked sob, her calm façade crumbling at last. "Every day, I wish they had killed me!"

Gellert would have sworn he had no instinct for it. Had he ever held his own baby sister before she died? If he had, he remembered nothing of it. Nonetheless, when Ariana cried, he crossed the distance between them with the certainty of birds migrating with the seasons. He held her as though it was encoded in his DNA; no mother had ever clutched her wounded child to her with such single-minded and fathomless grief.

He felt as though whatever was left of his heart was breaking with her. And yet in some distant plane of his mind, he didn't regret it.

He loved Albus, yes. But there was no lust in this, no hormones or biological predisposition – she was not his child any more than he was her lover. He had not approached her with any design or scheme or ulterior motive. It was true and pure human attachment, and before now he was in doubt that he was capable of that. Even with Albus.

As damaged as Gellert was, could it be that he was mending at last?

And if that was so, he could help Ariana to mend, too.

The world might be a sad story, but for the first time Gellert's corner of it didn't seem so dark after all.

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(A/N I've been informed that Gellert's been saying 'sheisee' when it should be 'scheisser'. Oops. Thanks for reading!)


	20. Chapter 20

(A/N Gellert loves Ariana. He does NOT want to have sex with Ariana. At least one person thought Gellert was two-timing with both siblings, so I am spelling it out that that is not the case.)

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It was around two in the morning that Albus woke – barely – to Gellert slipping into his bed.

"Mm…what're you doing here?" He asked, slightly confused but in no way displeased.

"It's been an interesting night on many levels. I'll tell you tomorrow…"

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When morning came, however, Gellert was strongly averse to the prospect of waking up. When Albus attempted to rouse him, he merely tugged the blankets over his head and muttered something semi-incoherent that might have been 'get off' or perhaps even 'fuck off'.

Either way, Albus wasn't about to press the issue.

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Albus came down to the kitchen to make breakfast, and was greeted with the sight of his sister already kneading bread dough.

On good days, Ariana was capable of feeding herself and perhaps even her brothers. On bad days, she was, to put it lightly, considerably less adept.

He could tell it was going to be one of her exceptionally good days.

"Morning Al. I'm making some bread – er, as you can probably see." She shrugged, self conscious. Ariana always seemed tentative around him. It troubled Albus and yet he had no idea how to rectify the situation. "Do you want anything in it? Raisins or nuts or something?"

"Anything you want. I just appreciate the help."

…Did that sound like a backhanded way of complaining that she didn't help more? But going back and specifying that was not the case would be equally as heavy handed.

Albus resisted the urge to slap himself upside the head. The uncertainty went both ways for brother and sister. Ariana felt guilty about the situation of their family, for which she blamed herself, while Albus felt guilty for not being more attentive to Ariana all along.

And of course with that guilt was the desire not to offend one another, which led to a deadlock of nothing ventured and nothing gained in their relationship. And as the uneasy silence wore on, each of them took it as the other's lack of interest in becoming closer.

However, figuring she would carry on the previous night's theme of unprecedented bravery on her part, she decided to venture just a little something.

"He seems nice. I'm really glad you…found someone."

Albus turned to look at her, doubting at first that he had heard right.

"You mean…? How do you know him?"

"I wrote him, after Abe made you kick him out. Told him not to let it bother him. I know how stubborn can be Abe sometimes."

"You've been corresponding?" It was as though he'd just been informed that Aberforth was the new minister of magic or that Gellert had no aspirations beyond homemaking.

"Are you angry?"

"No – no of course not! Surprised, though."

Then it clicked. Gellert slipping into his bed last night, why he'd been there in the first place. _It's been an interesting night,_ he had said. That was putting it lightly.

"So, I assume he came over last night?"

"How did you know?"

"Oh, I'm…just guessing, actually."

"I'm not stupid, Al. He's still here, isn't he?"

Another shock to be added to his considerable dose of it that morning.

"I – it…um, this is an awkward conversation to be having with my little sister."

"Well, it's none of my business what you do in your own bed. I just want you to know that I like him and I'm very happy for both of you."

Albus was silent for a long time, struggling to absorb this new information.

"…Leaving Gellert aside for a moment…it seems like my whole idea of _you_ has been turned upside down."

"I feel the same way. My idea of myself, I mean. He said some things that…I don't know. He made me feel almost like a real person."

"You are a real person. Don't talk that way." His words were hollow. It wasn't that he was lying; rather, there was nothing there to reach his sister's heart. He didn't know her well enough to affect her in so deep a way, and it saddened him.

"I'm not sure I believe you. But I'm starting to think that maybe I could be, eventually."

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Gellert dozed much of the time that Albus was downstairs. The smell of baking bread stirred him slightly, but he was more tired than he was hungry.

It occurred to him that waking up in Albus's bed that morning was similar to the circumstances in which they had first met. Minus his considerable discomfort in the wake of the portkey incident. And clothes.

Smiling at the thought, he stretched and sat up. The room was littered with their clothes, the ones Albus had removed upon going to bed, and the ones Gellert himself had removed upon joining him much later.

He got up and donned Albus's shirt from the previous day. It was a white button-down, and due to their difference in height it fell to Gellert's mid thigh. Decent enough, considering he didn't plan on being seen in the first place.

He pushed the bedroom door open and walked lightly down the hall to the bathroom. He dreaded to encounter Aberforth on the way there – and hardly dressed, at that – but the upstairs appeared deserted.

After relieving himself, he washed his face and thoroughly rinsed his mouth, running his fingers through his unruly blond strands to try and return them to a semblance of neatness.

He was slightly distracted by the sight of his face in the mirror. It was the same face as ever it had been – that was the surprise, as everything else about him felt so different. It seemed like the change ought to show on the surface, the way yawning chasms and mountains form when tectonic plates move and clash.

Ariana and Albus. The change was welcome but no less overwhelming. Always cold and always alone, somehow he'd formed connections with not one but _two_ people. The connections were dissimilar in nature, but alike in that they were melting his icy heart like warm spring rain.

He retreated back to bed and to less complicated things like pillows and blankets.

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"Thought I heard you up." Albus said, pushing open the door to his room and closing it behind him. "I brought you this."

He set down a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and fresh bread with jam on his bedside table next to Gellert, who stared at it, for a moment speechless. In his cycles of using and being used, none of his partners had ever done such a kind thing as make him breakfast the next morning.

Damn, there he was melting again…

"Hey, come here." He said, patting the bed next to him.

As soon as Albus was within reach, Gellert pulled him down and kissed him very thoroughly. Albus was pleasantly surprised to find that Gellert was wearing one of his shirts and nothing else.

"What was that for?" Albus inquired, as Gellert pulled away and retrieved the place from the nightstand.

"Because I love you, and because you deserve it." He turned his attention to the food.

"Ariana told me some interesting things…" Albus began.

"You're not mad are you?" Gellert asked, swallowing a mouthful of toast before he was quite done chewing it. "I intended to tell you we were corresponding; I just didn't want to get your hopes up before we'd met face to face. In case…you know, it didn't work out or something."

"How could I be mad?" He asked, astonished. "No one's ever…if they even spare a thought for Ariana it's out of pity – and she _knows _it, that's the worst part. According to her you're the first person outside our immediate family to treat her with human dignity."

"We have a lot in common. Even more than that, she's…well, she's just a good person, whatever her difficulties. Reminds me a lot of you." He frowned. "A regular tyrant on the chessboard though."

"I'd hope so – I taught her."

"Then I'm making you teach me the next chance we get. I do have pride and that girl is abusing it." The statement was belied by the bright smile on his face.

"You're in a good mood this morning."

"I am. I'm starting to think I really can do this."

"'This'?"

"Oh, you know…love people. Build functional relationships. All that stuff that normal people do."

"My sister makes you think that and not me?"

"You both do. The two things go hand in hand – romantic love and familial love. Both things I never had and never thought I was fit for."

Albus's brief jealousy dispersed like a whiff of smoke.

"I want my family to be your family too. Nothing would make me happier."

"It kind of makes sense. Your family broken, me with no family at all. Maybe we can make something good come out of…of all that's happened. To me and you, to Ariana, all of us." He laughed softly. "Listen to me, talking about love and family. Who would ever guess I'd go this soft?"

"I wouldn't call it going soft. I think it takes far more strength to love, than not to."

"I hope so. It would mean I'm stronger than I've ever been. Either way, I have you to thank for it entirely."

It was Albus who initiated the kiss this time, leaning over Gellert and pressing him back into the mattress. Gellert moaned slightly, enjoying the feeling of weight on top of him. He adored Albus's innocence and the ability to teach him something new, but it was also very appealing to have him take the lead.

Albus broke off the kiss to glance down at the half-finished plate of food, now at great risk of spilling onto the bed.

"How determined are you to finish breakfast?"

"I can eat it cold." He leaned over and set the plate back onto the nightstand.

They resumed their previous activity eagerly. Albus's hand drifted between them, beginning to work on the buttons of the shirt Gellert wore.

Gellert made a small noise, not of pleasure this time. He broke the kiss and pulled back slightly. "Do you suppose you could leave it on?"

"Why?"

He didn't quite meet Albus's eyes. "You've seen the scars. Or if you wouldn't mind waiting I could cast that charm to hide them."

"I wouldn't mind waiting, but the charm I would very much mind. When I said I wanted all of you, scars included, it wasn't just for effect. "

Gellert said nothing. Albus took his silence as tenuous consent, and slowly began to undo the buttons. When Gellert still said or did nothing to stop him, he slid the garment off entirely.

"You're lovely." Albus said, leaning down to kiss him. "I want to learn you, everything that gives you pleasure. And then repeat it again and again until you're screaming my name."

He spent the remainder of the morning doing just that, and Gellert had no more objections.

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(A/N Yay fluff and smut with little content -_-' Enjoy it while it lasts because the next chapter is going in a very different direction. Thanks for reading!)


	21. Chapter 21

Due to his morning's activities, Albus was running slightly late for work. He was just about to punch in when a voice from behind him said,

"The boss wants a word."

He turned to see Ms. Preston, his boss's secretary and general go-between for the management level and the manual labor of the cannery. Her look was rather grim.

"Why?" Albus asked uneasily.

"Ask him yourself." She said shortly, before walking away.

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"You wanted to see me sir?" Albus said, pushing the door open.

His boss, Mr. Weaver, sat behind a large mahogany desk. Weaver had been a good-looking man in his youth, and still cut an impressive figure in middle-age, although his job of sitting all day had led to the beginnings of a pot-belly. He was on good terms with many of his employees, cracking jokes and slapping shoulders during lunch breaks. However he, like everyone else there, didn't talk to Albus if the could help it.

"Come in and shut the door." He said. Then, "I want you to look out that window, and think about what you see.

Albus did so, utterly baffled. For a few long moments he didn't know what he was supposed to be looking at. Then the realization hit him like a freight train. The window looked down on the very spot where he had kissed Gellert the previous day. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"It's not what you think –" He began, not knowing what excuse he was going to give.

"Don't lie to me. I know a boy when I see one, even from a second story window."

He closed his eyes, reeling in shock for a moment. His first instinct was to try and contain the damage.

"I do my job well. My family needs the money. Please, overlook this one small thing –"

"It's no small thing. I'd suggest asking the Lord to forgive you before asking me. Now get out of my building."

For a moment Albus had the overwhelming urge to punch Mr. Weaver in the face. He forced himself to take a deep breath, while his mind raced a mile a minute.

Violence wouldn't solve this. Magic would be more intelligent. But it was illegal for a wizard to use magic against a muggle to 'harm them, deny them their rights, or infringe on their will'. Self-defense was a different matter, but defending himself from being fired didn't count.

Not only was using magic to alter Mr. Weaver's decision illegal, but to Albus it was also very dishonorable. He believed that tampering with a person's mind was violating them on the most basic level. Certain rights should never be taken from anyone, he believed, and that included the right to have an opinion. Up until now that ethic had been purely theoretical, and it wavered like a flame in the wind of his current situation.

No. He wouldn't let this muggle cause him to compromise his values. Or cause him to break the law and possibly get arrested. It wasn't worth it.

It was a stomach-churning sensation when he realized there was nothing he could do – or nothing he _would _do, at least. He was not powerless, but in a position in which he could not use the power he had. He was playing a game with foreign rules, and because of that he had been defeated.

"I believe I'm due some sort of severance pay." He said at last, when he couldn't think of anything else to say or do which would not break the law.

"You're lucky I don't call the police on you, you worthless queer. Now get out, I will not _ask_ you again."

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As soon as the shock wore off, the only thing on Albus's mind was finding the one person who was likely to offer him sympathy. Losing his job had been terrible, and breaking the news to his family wasn't going to be any better. He shuddered at what Aberforth would say, and the toll this new crisis would take on his sister's already tenuous sense of security.

He couldn't face it. Not yet, not _ever_, it seemed to him at that moment. So when he apperated back to Godrick's Hollow, he went not to his own house but to Bathtilda's.

Albus knocked on the door, fervently hoping that Gellert would answer. It wasn't much of a surprise when Bathtilda opened the door and ushered Albus inside. It was, after all, clearly not his lucky day.

"Why hello. You're out of work very early dear." She commented as they passed through the entry hall.

He forced a smile. "Muggle machinery breaks down all the time. No telling when they'll have things up and running again."

She seemed to swallow this without hesitation. For once, wizard arrogance or at least ignorance of the muggle world was a boon to him.

"Is Gellert here?"

"Upstairs in his room last time I checked – he's ever so quiet, that boy, almost like living with no one at all. I was afraid at first that…"

Albus threw manners to the wind and edged up the stairs, while Bathtilda walked in the direction of the living room, seemingly unaware that Albus was no longer behind her. He would pay for it later, he assumed. At the moment, offending Bathtilda was the least of his worries.

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Gellert was on his bed reading when Albus knocked on the door.

"Come in." He said, knowing already who it would be. Bathtilda, probably due to the habits of living alone, never remembered to knock.

Gellert immediately noticed two things: one, Albus was home from work much too soon. Two: he was upset, but trying not to show it.

Being a smart person and attempting to be more 'caring' of late, he dispensed with any questions and opted to simply get up and embraced Albus tightly.

Albus felt as though a string that had been holding him unnaturally rigid had been cut. He didn't melt, exactly, but some of the tension left him. He longed to forget the world outside of that room, forget anything beyond the comforting warmth of his love's arms around him.

Gellert took his hand and led him over to the bed. Only when they were both seated did he ask, "What happened?"

Albus recounted the day's events in a deceptively calm voice, all the while fighting against a lingering tightness in his throat. He would not cry, that wouldn't help anything.

"I've never had someone look at me with so much contempt." He finished. It was a foolish thing to say – what did it matter how Mr. Weaver viewed him? Compared to the loss of his paycheck and the shortage his family would now face, why was he muddling over hurt feelings?

Gellert moved to sit behind him, bringing up his hands to rub the tension from Albus's shoulders.

"They're only muggles." Gellert said. "Backwards, clueless, misguided. Compared to you, he is a grain of sand against a mountain, a slug to a noble eagle. He doesn't deserve to be in the same room with you, and he certainly does not deserve your pain on his account."

"I wouldn't care so much, except…it's all my fault. If I hadn't been so careless, so stupid –"

"–I will not hear you speaking that way for one moment." Gellert interrupted. "You are in the right here, all the blame falls on him, and the society in which he lives."

"But I had to play by the rules of that society in order to feed my siblings."

"Your family will not starve, not with you and me looking after it. Don't see our innocent little kiss as a mistake. You and I are true to ourselves in a world that's against us. Of course we'll encounter difficulties. But you mustn't blame yourself, that's letting them win."

"Aberforth is going to kill me."

"Let him get a job then."

"He's needed here. I can trust him to look after Ariana in my absence; I'm not able to deal with her anywhere near as well as he does."

"I could try. I mean, we only just met but our relationship is quite good. Or, you could both stay here and I could get a job."

"No – you're not even living here; I couldn't sleep soundly at night knowing you were supporting _me_."

"Why the hell not? I'm a man too; I'm allowed to be chivalrous when it comes to those I love."

"Do you even have the documentation necessary to work in Brittan?"

"I could fake it well enough to fool any muggle."

"Oh Gel…"

"Don't _'oh Gel' _me, I've done it plenty of times before and I've never been caught yet."

"Just…wait. Before you break any laws – any _more_ laws, I should say – let me talk about it with my brother. I can look for other work, maybe he can get something that doesn't take up too much time."

"So what, you're the wage-earner and I stay home and cook and clean? I'm not sure I'm okay with that."

"That's not what I'm asking of you. Let me try to solve it my way, and if that doesn't work…"

"You'll do it the less admirable and more effective way?"

"Yes."

Already Albus felt that a huge burden had been lifted off him. There was still the very real, very pertinent issue of money, but Gellert taken away the shame underlying it, the pain.

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(A/N I haven't faced much discrimination in my life, thankfully, but when I have it was a truly devastating sense of helplessness and injustice. For all the facts and figures given about discrimination due to gender, race, sexuality and such, I think it's equally important to put a human face on the whole thing - to see the people behind the numbers and whatnot. *Rant rant* On another note, it's a fascinating issue to think about the morality of tampering with a person's memory and opinions. It's a very profound insight to Albus's character to see that he is true to his ethics even when it costs him. Thanks for reading!)


	22. Chapter 22

(A/N Gellert's views on religion and the religious do not reflect my own. Also, I should have mentioned last chapter that homosexuality was illegal in England at the time (or so I've been told) hence why Albus's boss would threaten to turn him over to the authorities.)

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As it turned out, Aberforth took it better than Albus had dared hope.

"I've been fired. They didn't give me a reason." _Not a good reason, anyway_. "I failed to blend in well enough with the muggles, perhaps."

That was true, in a way. Any homosexual muggle would have learned to live in much deeper fear than Albus was accustomed to. He had failed to act oppressed enough.

Aberforth frowned, but merely shrugged, saying,

"There's a farm down the road that'll be harvesting soon. I was planning on giving 'em a hand anyway. It'll tide us over at least until better work comes along, or the bloody gobs decide to give us our money back."

"…You're not angry?"

"I'm sure as hell not _happy_, but it's not your fault."

"…Right." _You're not in the wrong_, Gellert had said. Albus wanted very much to at least pretend that was true.

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The morning shift at the cannery began at six o'clock, but Mr. Weaver's authority within the company allowed him to arrive significantly later. That day, he walked through the front door at about nine-thirty.

On the way to his office, he looked around for his secretary to bring him coffee, but her desk was deserted. He frowned. That wasn't like her, usually so diligent and eager to please. It made him wonder, at times, why she had failed to find a husband.

He would have to give her a talking to about taking unscheduled breaks. In the meantime there was business to see to. He had issued an advertisement in the newspaper about the job opening, and applications were sure to start poring in right about now. This time, God willing, he wouldn't end up hiring some freak.

As Mr. Weaver passed over the threshold of his office door, a strange fit of dizziness overtook him. He reeled, for a moment not knowing where he was. It left as quickly as it came though, and he found himself standing just inside his office, as he had been before the weird little episode.

Having been distracted, he then noticed for the first time that he was not alone. A skinny blond boy dressed in dark, shabby clothing was standing in front of the window, looking out of it.

"Nice view you have here." He turned, smiling brightly at Mr. Weaver. "I came to inquire about the position that was vacated recently."

"Fill out an application and give it to my secretary like everyone else." Mr. Weaver said, shutting the door and walking over to sit behind his desk. "Don't know why she even let you in to see me."

"I didn't say I wanted it, I just came to inquire about it. You see, the young man you fired happened to be a friend of mine."

Mr. Weaver's frown deepened. He hadn't gotten a close look at Gellert's face from his vantage point at the window, but those bright blond curls were very distinctive.

"I thought I made it clear to your 'friend' your kind's not welcome here."

"Ah, so you were the one who fired him." His smile grew, and something predatory gleamed in his eyes, though he continued on in a light-hearted, conversational manner. "I wasn't sure, you see, not knowing your name and never having seen you before. I'd hate to enact vengeance on the wrong man in your place."

Gellert's appearance was anything but intimidating. Mr. Weaver was not oblivious to the possibility the boy was concealing a gun – he himself had one in his desk drawer for just such occasions. But the very fact that the boy was standing there talking about 'vengeance' convinced Mr. Weaver that the boy was not capable of any such thing. He was just trying to scare him. Well, he'd show the little faggot a thing or two. He eased his drawer open very slowly.

"I have cause to call the authorities on you, for coming in here and threatening me. It's my right to fire any employee I see fit. Your friend was in violation of the law, and of the Lord."

Gellert's smile vanished as quickly as though someone had turned off a light. The air became curiously cold.

"I'm curious, are you taking out your gun to shoot me or just to wave in my face and hope I run away screaming? In either case, go ahead. Try it." He held his hands out away from him, as if to show that he was not about to draw a weapon of his own.

"Oh for crying out loud!" Mr. Weaver wanted to shoot him then and there; the reason he did not was purely self-preservation. The kid looked so utterly unthreatening – those skinny legs, that damn blond hair, and not even a hint of beard – Mr. Weaver doubted anyone would _believe_ him if he said he'd shot the boy in self-defense.

He got to his feet with the intention of the next best thing: throwing the kid out like the troublesome idiot he was – and maybe give him a nice hard smack, just to teach him some manners.

He approached the boy, reaching out to take hold of his arm with one hand and his hair with the other.

Yet suddenly, inexplicably, there was nothing to grab hold of. The boy was there, and then he wasn't, it was as simple as that. Mr. Weaver looked around wildly.

"Is that the best you can do?" Gellert said, now on the other side of the room. "You're disappointing me."

To hell with what people thought. Mr. Weaver dove for his desk. The boy made no move to stop him. How stupid. Mr. Weaver pulled out his gun, switched off the safety and fired three rounds almost point-blank.

Gellert winced slightly at the sound, being unaccustomed to guns and the noise they made. His reaction to the sound was his _only_ reaction, however.

Mr. Weaver's mind went blank, unable to form thoughts or even register appropriate emotions such as shock or, even more appropriately, fear.

Gellert smiled again, leaned forward, and placed three bullets on the desk which Mr. Weaver stood behind as though it would protect him. "I advise you to conserve those. You'll have use of them yet."

If and when attack fails, the next animal instinct is to flee. Mr. Weaver made a mad dash for the door. But it opened to reveal nothing but the same color of wall as on either side of the doorway.

He screamed and beat against it, unbelieving, but it was as unyielding as stone.

"Perhaps I should explain." Gellert said, taking a seat on the desk as Mr. Weaver beat pathetically against the door-turned-wall. "This room, while it looks, smells and feels exactly like your office, is not. As soon as you walked through that door, you passed into a place of my own devising. When you shut the door, you broke the only direct connection to the outside world."

"That's not possible!"

"I had a feeling you'd say that. If you need proof, look out the window and see for yourself."

Mr. Weaver did so. He looked out into blank, white nothingness.

"No…This-this is a dream! It has to be!"

"If this is a dream, it is the last dream you'll ever have."

"What are you? What kind of monster are you?"

"You said it yourself, I'm just a worthless queer. But in this room, I also happen to be all-powerful. You cannot hurt me, and you cannot get out, except in one way. Would you like to know it?"

"T-tell me. I'll do anything!"

"I will. And you don't have to anything but listen." He took on the tone of a teacher explaining to a child. "All I want you to do is think about why this is happening to you. Can you guess?"

Mr. Weaver shook his head.

"Come one now, you're not _that _stupid. I'm not going to tell you how to get out of here until you guess why you're in here in the first place."

The conclusion was easy enough to draw once Mr. Weaver applied himself to it.

"That boy I fired – the one with the long hair."

"Right, very good. And can you tell my _why _you fired him?"

"Because…b-b-because…"

"Because you saw him kissing me. But the real question is, why is that a problem? Why did it offend you _so_ much as to deprive him of his livelihood – which is the only thing his family was living on, by the way. What are the reasons behind the action?"

"I-I'm sorry."

"Answer the question."

"He can have his job back!"

"ANSWER ME!"

"B-because…it's…it isn't… it's not natural, it's not God's way!"

Frost was beginning to form on the window. Mr. Weaver was shaking, both in cold and terror.

"Yes. And here are you: a white, handsome, heterosexual man. Made in God's own image – that's what you believe, isn't it? You think you're so fucking perfect that it's a sin to be different. Women, witches, homosexuals, ethnic minorities…I bet you've never given any thought to those you hurt, the ones that are oppressed just because they're not to your taste. You'll never understand the true injustice in all that you perceive as so good and righteous."

"I'm sorry! Please! I'm so sorry! He can have his job back – you can have anything you want, my money, my house, my –"

"Maybe I want my family back! Can you give me that? Maybe I want my _life_ back. Maybe I want Ariana to be able to look at a stranger and not fear for her life! Can you give me _that_?"

He realized he was rambling. No sense in telling the muggle these things he would never understand.

"My kind is not welcome, you said. Well, _my _kind is at war with _your _kind. I never asked for it to be this way. _Your _kind made an enemy of me. Now, would you like to hear how to get out of this room, your own private hell?"

"How?"

"By dying." His voice was as cold as the grave.

"B-but…please, no…let me go, please…I have a family!"

"You have no children. A wife you do have, who you're unfaithful to with your secretary. I saw it all in her thoughts, and in yours. But if your wife really does concern you, I'll give you a chance to compose a will leaving everything to her."

Mr. Weaver made no move to act. The entreaty on behalf of his wife was purely for his own survival.

"I'm being somewhat merciful." Gellert said. "It would take you two or three days to die here without water. Longer, if you wanted to drink your own piss. And it wouldn't matter how long you lived, you would only suffer more with each passing moment. Tormented by thirst, wracked with hunger, and knowing that it will only get worse, every moment until your demise. Your only alternative would be to beat yourself unconscious with a blunt object, which isn't pleasant in and of itself. However…"

He motioned to the discarded gun on the table.

"I've left you the option of a quick, relatively painless death."

"Please no! I'm not ready to die! I'll do anything, give you anything! I'll –"

"Crucio." Gellert hissed. Mr. Weaver collapsed on the floor, screaming in pain. Gellert didn't hold the spell long, only long enough to make his point.

After it was over, Mr. Weaver sobbed hysterically for a few minutes. Gellert waited patiently.

"If you do not want do die," he said at length, "what you just experienced was the alternative. Death is indisputably preferable. But no suicide is complete without a note – what would your so-called family be left with? Write a suicide note. In it, confess to being homosexual. That is why you took your life."

"No! By God, I refuse!"

His refusal didn't seem to ruffle the boy…creature…demon…whatever this monster was. In fact, he seemed glad to be told no.

"Really now?" He said, cheerfully. "You refuse? And by _God, _even? I think I can change your mind. Crucio."

Through the pain, Mr. Weaver heard Gellert's voice inside his mind.

_You're going to die by the same thoughtless bigotry you lived. People will remember you as you judged Albus to be. _

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_(_A/N Do I hate someone with the surname Weaver? No. When I was thinking of a name for his character, there was a book sitting next to the computer and the author's name was Weaver. Basically, this is my way of saying I don't have an axe to grind. Thanks for reading!) _  
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	23. Chapter 23

(A/N: Hello and happy 2011!)

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Lunch was Albus's responsibility that day, but Ariana and Gellert had taken over his share of household chores while he looked for work in England.

Theoretically, both of them were well able to prepare a meal. However, rather than doubling their productivity, working together effectively cut it in half. Common sense would suggest that the younger of the two would be the one most likely to goof off on the job. However, in actuality…

"Mr. Q. Cumber" Gellert solemnly addressed a rather post-prime cucumber on the counter in front of him, "you are charged with heinous crimes against the kitchen-land, including blandness and fraternization with mold. How do you plead?"

"Guilty, sir!" He affected a high-pitch voice. "I have no shame for what I've done!"

"Very well! Prepare the guillotine!" He raised the knife with a flourish. "Any last words, Cumber?"

"My actions speak for themselves! History will remember me as a hero among vegetables!"

He brought the knife down with a dramatic _clunk_.

"Are you quite done?" Ariana asked, snickering.

"Yeah, take it." He handed the larger part of the cucumber to Ariana, then opened the window and tossed out the moldy part.

"Execute the broccoli next." Said Ariana. "And can we dispense with reading them their rights this time?"

"Only if you want to be a tyrannical police-state." Gellert said with mock indignation.

"Oh I do! That sounds like loads of fun."

"Very well." He lifted the knife over the broccoli. "Prepare for massacre."

"Bloody maniac." Ariana muttered affectionately.

The broccoli was saved from a horrible fate, however, when without warning Albus apparated in the middle of the kitchen. They both greeted him, surprised but pleased.

Gellert could never quite grow accustomed to muggle clothes, and that went doubly where his lover was concerned. All the garments, particularly the men's, seemed to be designed to make everyone look the same.

"Back so soon?" Ariana inquired. "Did you get a job already or are you just home for lunch?"

There was a flash of…_something_, on Albus's face, but it was gone before Gellert could place it.

Albus turned to his sister. "Ariana, would you go help your brother with the goats?"

"He can handle them just fine." She said, brow furrowed.

"Please do what I've asked you to."

She got up and walked out of the kitchen, casting a doubtful look over her shoulder at Albus and Gellert.

As soon as his sister was gone, Albus dropped a newspaper on the table in front of Gellert. The sound of the paper hitting wood was ominously loud in the suddenly hushed room. The front-page story recounted the shocking suicide – and even more shocking confession – of Mr. Robert Weaver, a wealthy factory owner in London.

Gellert perused the article with a raised brow. "Poor man." He said at length. "Must have been horribly confused."

"Don't lie to me." Albus said, his voice tightly controlled. "On top of everything else, do not lie."

There was a moment of long, heavy silence.

"I didn't want your conscience to be burdened." Gellert said, his voice neither apologetic nor defensive.

Silence, again. Albus had known already, had known from the moment he read the article…and yet to have Gellert admit it was like a punch in the face.

"How could you have done this?" He asked at last, unable to make himself believe.

"How couldI _not?_" Gellert's voice was sharp, now. "Its people like him that make the world what it is."

"He didn't deserve to die – he was no hero, but he did not deserve _this_." Albus motioned at the article.

"Why?" Gellert said harshly. "Do you think he'd hesitate to show violence to you – or me or Ariana, if he was assured he wouldn't be punished?"

"Leave Ariana out of this." Albus said, and his voice carried an undertone of danger.

"Fine. You, then. What if you were a muggle? You would be unable to find work there or anywhere, unless you led a fake life. Would he seem so innocent then, if it was him and his kind who made you choose between who you are and the means to feed yourself and your family?"

"That is all true, but the fact still remains that what you did is wrong. There is no point in fighting corruption if you become just as corrupt as your enemy."

"I am as corrupt as anyone – I've _told _you that. I am a person who kills; you led me to believe you had accepted that."

"A person who _had _killed; there is a difference. Do you intend to kill everyone who disagrees with you?"

"If that was my intention, I would kill you right now. I intend to put an end to anyone who perpetrates violence and hatred towards those who have done them no harm."

"Don't you see the hypocrisy in that? He did nothing to harm you!"

"He harmed you!"

"I never asked you to do this!"

"That's why I didn't tell you."

"Am I to live with the fear of you constantly shedding blood behind my back, on my account? What if you're caught? What if they discover what happened, and they blame me for his death?"

"If it came to that, I would confess. Letting another person suffer for my crimes is as evil as anything."

"And wantonly killing is not?"

"Albus, you're being naïve."

"And you're being…_insane_!"

"I am doing what I believe is right! Do you think the world is a worse place, for having lost one mean-spirited bigot?"

"It doesn't matter; he did not deserve to die!"

"You keep saying that. I've yet to hear why."

"It is not his fault that he was born into a flawed society."

"That is true, but society will never change unless it is _made _to change. Do you think it's possible to bring about a better world without spilling any blood or offending anyone's sensibilities? If so, you are a damn child!"

"And you are a depraved criminal, to resort to violence and murder at the drop of a hat!"

"Drop of a fucking hat? Worthless, that's what he thinks you are! Do you understand what that means? Less than an animal! He would see you die on the street before he'd suffer your presence in 'his' perfect world!"

He seized the paper, which bore Mr. Weaver's picture on the front page, and ripped it in half.

"But of course, you don't see it that way." He said, casting the torn fragments to the ground. "It didn't hurt _you _all that much. You're no muggle, to be ostracized and shunned because you were born the wrong way." His words were as piercing as syringes. "I was fool to think you would understand."

"I understand his crimes." Albus's voice was deadly calm, dark with rage. "And you have made yourself worse than him in what you have done."

"I did the right thing."

"You did a _horrible_ thing."

"The right thing can be as awful as anything."

"Get out of my house. Just leave, I can't stand to look at you right now."

"Then you are a coward."

"Get out!"

Gellert turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen. Albus heard the door slam behind him as he left the house, echoing with a terrible finality.

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(A/N: This is not the end, although it may seem like it. They're a little past the one month point in their relationship at this time. Thanks for reading!)


	24. Chapter 24

Ariana fled from the house, through the yard and into the small barn. It was dark in there, smelling of hay, soil and animal musk. Sunlight slanted through gaps in the walls, catching the dust mites in the air and making them glow.

Aberforth was there, doling out food into the troughs, and she was in tears even before she reached him.

"What's wrong? What happened?" He asked urgently, as he enfolded his sister in his arms. To the world, Aberforth might be terse and blunt; Ariana saw a side of him as tender as anyone could wish.

Gradually he coaxed the reason out of her, although in truth there wasn't much to say.

"They…t-they…I don't know, they're fighting about something. We – Gellert and I – were making lunch and Albus came home. He made me leave the kitchen, but I heard their voices from outside the door…"

It might have seemed strange, to some, for a fourteen year old to fall to pieces because her brother got in a fight with his boyfriend. But Ariana had seen her family ripped apart too many times before, and every time the fault was hers, or so she thought.

Aberforth would have danced a jig to see Gellert leave and never come back, but he also knew that voicing that opinion wouldn't help his sister at all.

"Everyone fights with the people they care about. It's not the end of…well, anything." _Unfortunately_, his thoughts amended.

"Albus was really upset though. He raised his voice – you know how he is; that's not like him."

It was true enough. While Aberforth had no qualms about expressing his feelings – at high volume, often enough – the elder Dumbledore brother tended more towards the passive-aggressive type of combat. He was more likely to shut someone out than confront them, sooner to be silent that to shout.

It was enough to make Aberforth wonder what had happened. It was too much to hope that Albus had come to his senses on his own. He was still obviously, hopeless, infatuated. What could have happened to make him change his mind so abruptly?

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The kitchen was deserted when Ariana and Aberforth returned to it, lunch preparations sat half-finished on the counter. A normal enough scene, the only things out of place being the silence and the torn newspaper on the floor.

Aberforth noticed the latter, picking it up and scrutinizing the headline. Then he set it aside.

"Why don't you finish up with lunch?" Aberforth suggested, more because he hoped it would distract her from the issue at hand than because he really cared about a meal. "I'll go find Al and see what's going on."

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Albus had retreated to his room, although in his distraught state he had failed to lock it. Aberforth knocked on the door as he was already pushing it open. He knew better than to give Albus any opportunity to shut him out.

"What happened?"

"Oh what the hell do you care?" Albus snapped, venting his anger on the nearest target.

"I don't." Aberforth responded just as harshly. "You might say a word to your sister though. She does care, for better or worse."

He left before Albus could respond.

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Aberforth ended up fixing lunch, but neither of his siblings had any appetite for it.

_The good thing about goats_, he lamented glumly as he fed them the meal, _is that food never goes to waste. _

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As the day wore on into evening, Albus's guilt outweighed his misery, and he sought out Ariana. He doubted very much that he could say anything to help her – even Gellert was better than him when it came to dealing with his sister, damn it – but he knew he had to try nonetheless.

He knocked on her door. Only silence ensued, and he pushed it open cautiously. It was dark in there, the window shut and no candles lit. He could just make out a girl-sized lump under layers of blankets, in spite of the fact that it was a warm summer evening.

"Ariana…? Do you want to talk?"

Silence once again ensued. Albus had just turned to leave when he heard the sound of her blankets shifting.

"What happened Al?" She asked in a small voice. He was glad of the dark, that he couldn't see how red her eyes must be from crying.

"…It's between me and him." Albus hated not telling her, but the truth could only upset her more, and he refused to lie.

"Where's Gellert?"

That stung. It seemed like Ariana cared more for Gellert than himself. Surely he had been a less-than-satisfactory brother over the years, but he was still her _brother_.

"I don't know."

"Is he coming back?"

"I don't know." He hated how much he didn't know. "That's up to him." He added, just because he wanted to seem like he knew _anything_.

"Do you still love him?"

The question left Albus speechless for a moment.

Did he?

"…Yes."

He couldn't hate Gellert this much if he didn't love him too.

"Then bring him back." There was a tremor in her voice.

"It's not that simple."

"How do you know, until you try?"

"That's not…I'm not sure that would be the best thing to do. For any of us."

"If you love each other, how could it not be? Why would you let anything at all come between you?"

"I'm afraid you don't understand."

"I'm afraid _you _don't. After losing so many people…" Her voice cracked, giving way to a short sob. "W-why would you l-let him go if there's even a chance?"

Why, indeed? Love was worth fighting for, surely, but when there was actual blood spilled between them? Was a murderer worth fighting for? Most people would say Albus should report Gellert to the ministry. He might get life, for what he had done…

Albus knew he could never do that. Even if he should, he simply could not.

"I'm sorry." He said, for lack of anything else to say. "I want this all to have a happy ending, I do." Who was he kidding; they had all passed 'happy' a long time ago, Gellert included. "I don't know what's right."

"It's okay." Ariana said, laying her hand on Albus's arm. "If you don't know what's right – if you really don't – then do what will make you happy."

"I am." He covered her hand with his own. "Right now, I am. Because I love _you_, too. You know that, right?"

"I do. But I've never made you smile like he does. No one ever has." Her voice had none of the bite that Aberforth's would have, if Aberforth had had even the courage to give voice to the same sentiment. Her voice was gentle, and seemed somehow too old for her.

"I'm sorry." He was.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. You love him. Don't let him go."

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(A/N Ending is falsely optimistic; the fight's not over. Looking back on this fic, there are so many damn errors - my own fault for not bothering to have someone help me edit each chapter -_-' I'm no expert on FF's system, does anyone know how I could go back and make corrections without having to re-post and spam people's notifications? If not, well...prepare to be spammed! Thanks for reading!)


	25. Chapter 25

(A/N Scrying is the practice of finding something by dangling an object, usually a precious stone with spiritual qualities attributed to it, on a string above a map. I think wherever the stone stops swinging is where the thing you're looking for supposedly is. I.e. if you're looking for your favorite shirt and you dangle the stone over a picture of your room, you swing the stone in a circular motion and wherever it centers is where you'll find your favorite shirt. Some people believe that this works in real life; personally, I think its a scam to get the gullible to spend their money on an overpriced variation of soap-on-a-rope. But I'm sure it would work wonders for an actual wizard :D)

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The summer evening was not cold, but Gellert was. And the air became cold around him. The sunset found him on the top of the tallest building in London. It was empty up there, forsaken by all but birds and the odd custodian.

Below him, unseen in the gathering darkness, people huddled in their coats and hurried indoors, running from the biting wind that had arisen in what should have been a warm night.

He wasn't angry anymore. In its wake he was as cold as the aura he bled into his surroundings; mournful and yet not repentant, _never _repentant.

He knew what he'd done was unethical. He would be the first to admit it. And yet he refused to call it wrong. Sometimes unethical must be done. That was how he made sense of the world and his place in it, how he made uneasy peace, or at least a truce, with the tragedy of his life.

He was meant to be as he was: hateful, violent. Evil, some would say. It was his fate to do the things that others could or would not do.

Even now, as darkness fell in London, there were people dying – of hunger or disease that could be cured by muggle or wizard alike. Yet the people of England, of any so-called 'civilized' country, went about their lives as though no one in the world was suffering any more than they were. Was that so much more evil than him, to enjoy surplus while others starved?

They took it for granted, how the world was built around a system that blessed some and cursed others. They didn't care, as long as it didn't negatively impact them. How could anyone live complacently in such a world and _not_ be evil, simply by contributing to it?

It wasn't in his power to save lives. He had nothing of his own, depending on the charity of his great-aunt and others survive. Even healing was something he'd always been terrible at. Gifted as he might be in other areas, he typically failed at even the most routine of curative magic.

He hadn't been able to save his siblings. He hadn't been able to save even himself, until after the best part of him had already died.

No, his power was in destruction. And that was fine by him; the world sometimes needed destruction as much as it needed healing. He would tear down every framework of inequality, destroy the very foundations of society, if that's what it took.

_I will save the world, or break it in trying_.

What could he ever destroy that was worth preserving? It was all rotten, the world and everything in it. He wanted no part of it.

He walked to the very edge of the roof, with nothing between him and the stomach-clenching drop below. The abyss, so much like that of his nightmares.

It was then as it had been the first time he reached rock-bottom. Everything in life might be breaking around him, but he knew he would not die, not like this, swallowed by the black void yawning hungrily all around him. He had survived too much, just to fall away into nothingness. Surviving was his precedent, his habit. He would live, even if he didn't want to.

All the same, he wasn't quite ready to step back from the edge yet. The thought of surrender was too sweet. He would not die, and yet did not know how to go on living. So he stared into the darkness until he was dizzy, until it seemed to be rising up to meet him, since he refused to come down.

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That was where Albus found him, perched on the very edge of the precipice as though a gust of wind might send him over into the nothingness.

Gellert felt a shiver in the back of his mind that told him he was not alone. He knew who it was without looking, and the realization was not a welcome one.

"How did you find me?"

He was good at maintaining spells that prevented people from tracking him; a skill developed when he was young and attempted to run away from his caretakers every month or so.

"Scrying let me track you as far as the city. Once I was here, I only had to go where it was coldest."

"I take it you can stand to look at me again."

"Ariana was asking about you. She misses you. So don't you dare be so selfish as to jump from there."

"_God's_ will didn't succeed in killing me." He said God as though it was the most disgusting word known to any language. "No way a lover's tiff will."

"Then come away from the edge." There was no fear in him for Gellert's sake. His heart was like a rough stone in his chest, painful and heavy yet numb in itself.

"Come and get me if you have something you want to say."

Gellert didn't want to fight, but didn't want to reconcile either. He had been preparing himself never to see Albus again, and the change in plans was far from welcome.

"I came this far."

"Do heights scare you?"

As a matter of fact they did, but Albus was unwilling to admit it.

"…I'm exceptionally less steady when I've barely slept in two days."

"Vodka would help with that. Puts you right out." Drinking was one of the many things Gellert had been doing from far too young an age.

"Did you enjoy it, Gellert? Murdering him?" His words were neither angry nor beseeching. They were simply there: raw, as he was.

"If you came here to talk about that, I just might jump after all."

"I need to know. Did you…did you like seeing his fear? Did you enjoy having that kind of power over him?" The words made him feel sick as he spoke them.

Gellert would have dearly loved to say that he had.

"I saw what I did as an obligation. I enjoy the knowledge that the world is free of that scum. I am not sorry_._"

"Every time I fall asleep I dream of him." Albus covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, aching from too many hours with too little sleep. "I dream his corpse is there, under my bed rotting. I can't get away from it, all that putrid flesh…"

That hurt. Gellert knew that Albus didn't deserve that kind of pain. And he didn't want to be _guilty_ of that, of hurting someone he cared for in such a sick way.

"I did not kill him _for you_; his death is not on _your_ conscience. I killed him because it was the right thing to do. Is that enough? Can you sleep in peace now?"

"Of course it's not enough! It's not that he died. It's the fact that _you _did it." He took a deep breath, summoning the will to say what he had come to say, although at the moment it was something he did because he had to, not because he wanted to.

"I said I loved you and I still do, even though I hate what you've done. I made commitment that I would help you overcome your demons, and I will keep that promise. All I need is for you to let me."

The sentiment was in words, but not in his heart at that moment. His love was not gone, but eclipsed by everything else. He was dead-tired and tired of death.

"You mean change me." Albus was just like everyone else, wanting to control and contain him, motivated out of cold duty, never love. Gellert had never wanted to be loved, until now. "You only care about what you want me to be – someone with brains and charm and a tragic past but no bite behind his bark."

He knew it would turn out this way all along. How could he ever have been foolish enough to believe otherwise?

"Why is your defining characteristic taking life? What about the good you've done? No one else could have done for Ariana what you did."

"I thought you told me to leave her out of it."

"I didn't want you to kill in her name. Or in mine – _especially_ in mine. You say his death made the world a better place, but you've already made the world better – for me and my sister, anyway. Do not we matter?"

"You matter above anyone." He turned to look at Albus at last. It was Ariana that undid him. This conflict with Albus didn't touch his feelings for her. They were the one part of him that still had any hope.

"If I – if _we_ matter, then come down from there and talk to me."

"I would be doing you a disservice if I did. How many more nightmares would I give you, if I stayed? I love you too much for that." He smiled, but it was bitter. "I love you more than myself, you know? More than anything."

They weren't happy words; love had become a cage to him, something that held him down and trapped him. A prison he couldn't escape even if he wanted to.

"I'd give anything for you, sacrifice anything." He continued. "Anything but this."

"Sacrifice anything but what? Killing people?"

"You do not understand! I can't _live_ knowing that people like him are allowed to exist in the world. When I can only see the pain they cause, how their hatred spreads like a cancer and what that hate leads to…what about the ones who couldn't kill to defend themselves? Ariana, my brother and sisters, all those others who could never fight back? Am I supposed to forget them?"

"Killing won't change what happened to Ariana, or your siblings. Or you."

He remembered, with an almost physical pang, running his fingers, his lips, over Gellert's scars. All those tender, protective feelings clashed head-on with the horror of the past days, leaving him in chaos.

"If I wipe out all of them, all of their hatred from the world, I might prevent the same thing from happening to others."

"Can fighting hate with more of the same accomplish any good in the end?"

Even when they were angry with one another, their thoughts still worked in astonishing unity; it was a meeting of the minds, even when they met on the battlefield.

"Hate saved my life – I sure as hell didn't live because I had any hope or love. Is that worth something, or do you no longer care if I live or die?"

"Why do you insist on making it a matter of life or death? What Mr. Weaver did is nowhere near as bad as what they did to you. He did wrong but he did not deserve to die for it."

"Even assuming he would never physically hurt anyone by his own hand, he still contributes to a society that persecutes those who are different – he condones it, he participates in it, even if he himself does not take life. Hate breeds more of the same."

"Killing someone won't change that; there will always be another to take their place. Even with the power of the Deathly Hallows, you could never _force _people to change. Not individually, and not as a society."

"So what? Are you saying it's hopeless, that I should give up? I will die first."

"I'm saying, there are better ways to bring about change, than to do it by force. If hate breeds more of the same, why base your actions off of it? Why not help people in your sibling's names, or Ariana's or your own? Surely that would honor their memory just as well."

"Death comes easily to me; kindness does not. You've lived in a world altogether more pleasant than mine, even accounting for what happened to Ariana. Your ideals might work for you, but how am I supposed to accept them?"

"I'm only asking you to take them into consideration. Another point of view is good, as long as it's based in reality."

"In the end, you would only ask me to compromise, and I am not willing to do that. If you are to lose sleep over every death, how can you hope to change anything?"

"I'm not asking you to compromise. I know what you want, it's the same thing I do – a world better than this one. I'm only asking you to consider other means to accomplish it. Not in lieu of your own, just in addition to them."

"What means are you suggesting?"

"Come over here and I'll tell you."

Gellert regarded the distance separating him from Albus. How easy those steps would be, both physically and emotionally. He wantedto go to him, to be forgiven by him. He wanted that so badly it hurt.

But it wasn't about what _he _wanted. The faces of his siblings rose like phantoms from his early memories.

_Am I betraying you for doing the easy thing? _

"If I back down now, won't I back down every time I'm faced with a painful choice? When I must choose between what I want and what I must do?"

That was what it took to shatter Albus, the knowledge that Gellert didn't want things to be this way anymore than he did. They were both lost, both struggling to do the right thing when everything was so horribly wrong.

"I'm not asking you to choose. I swear to you I won't rest until we've built a world better than this one." His words were heated with sudden urgency. His emotions were overtaking him at last. "I'll give you my life, if you just give me this, just the promise that killing will be your last resort, not your first."

"It means that much to you?"

"You and what you believe in are worth everything to me. My life, a hundred times over." He removed his glasses, irritably swiping at the sudden moisture on his face. Was he really crying? If he was he hardly felt it. He didn't know what he felt anymore.

He was surprised to feel a soft touch on his face. Gellert was standing in front of him, wiping away his tears.

"Don't. Please, it's not worth it. None of this is. The world doesn't deserve the tears, or the life of someone like you."

Albus didn't think nearly so much of himself, but figured that was beside the point. He settled for responding,

"Even if it doesn't now, it will someday. I promise you."

"And I don't want you giving your life _to me_. I don't deserve that either."

"Whether you do or not, I'm yours entirely."

"I fear you've made too much of me." He looked as miserable as Albus felt, although his own eyes were dry. "You're by far the better person of the two of us, but the wicked ones have a part to play as well."

"I think you've made too little of yourself. You call yourself wicked because you can't see all the good in you."

Gellert wasn't sure he believed that, although he wanted to. Wanted to be the person Albus saw him as. The person who deserved him.

"It once seemed that we were the best ones for each other. Now I wonder if we're not the worst."

"I would not have anyone else." Those were the truest words he had spoken all night. He didn't want to love, or hate, anyone aside from Gellert. Didn't want to cry for anyone else.

"Nor would I."

"Then we are good enough for one another." He extended his hand. "Do you want to come home?"

"…How can I go back? After everything that's happened. How can either of us go back?"

"That's what home is, isn't it? The place you can return to always, no matter how badly you mess up."

Gellert thought about that, thought about the home of his childhood, filled with ghosts and graves and terrible memories. No matter what happened with Albus, a home with him would always be better than the home Gellert had come from.

"Yes. You're right." He took Albus's hand; his own was shaking noticeably with the turbulent emotions that still clashed within him. He had indeed fucked things up pretty badly this time, and in the past he had always been the one to turn his back, to run away.

No more.

"If home is with you, there's nowhere else I want to be."

If that wasn't worth fighting for, nothing was.

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(A/N Happy Valentines Day! Celebrate with this new chapter of this tragically doomed love. I'm not single and bitter.)


	26. Chapter 26

(A/N: HELL YES I CAN UPLOAD STUFF AGAIN! *Ahem* I've been having what could be called technical difficulties. I don't know what all went on or why, but for a long time I wasn't able to update or edit my story - basically unable to touch it at all. But! that has clearly changed, so now you have this chapter, which has sat neglected on my desktop for quite some time now. Hope you like it ^_^)  
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Albus and Gellert returned to find Godrick's Hollow quiet and still, as though nothing wonderful or terrible had ever happened, and never would. At night with no lamps, no lit windows like prying eyes, they walked hand in hand without fear. The night was theirs, while others slept so happily oblivious.

There wasn't any question which house – Bathilda's or Albus's – in which Gellert would be spending the night, it was clear in both their minds they had spent enough time apart.

Nonetheless, when Albus pushed open the door, slowly to suppress the squeak of hinges, Gellert hesitated on the threshold. It seemed ages since he had been there, since he was _welcome _there. The intermittent days weighed on him like years of strife. But the moment passed, he entered and shut the door behind him.

The house was too old to be entirely silent at their passing as they climbed the stairs and crept down the hall to Albus's bedroom, but the house may as well have been empty save for them, for all the notice anyone took.

The silence between them was heavy, even as they undressed to their undergarments and got into bed together. Physical proximity may have been restored, but the nature of their conflict, even once resolved, was not the kind of thing to be forgotten so quickly. It was death, after all, which lay between them. It couldn't be amended with repentance alone.

"Are you alright?" Albus asked, braving the rift. "You seem quiet."

"I thought stealth was necessary, lest siblings wake up and ask questions neither of us want to answer at the moment."

"You know what I mean."

"…I'm tired, is all." He shrugged. "But nothing to you, I imagine, if you haven't slept since I left…"

"Not for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time."

Gellert winced inwardly as another pang of guilt overtook him, but he suppressed it. What good would it do either of them? "Come here." He said simply, opening his arms like a merciful angel, and Albus went into them like a child.

It was indeed merciful; for each time Albus was jarred awake by nightmares, his love was there to run a cool hand across Albus's sweat-damp brow, and with his touch banish the demons that waited in the darkness of unconsciousness.

Less and less frequently did he wake, panicked, believing that a dead man was rotting underneath his bed, or a noose was tightening around his neck, or that he was being buried alive and no one could hear his screaming. Gellert was like a sedating drug heavy in his bloodstream, gentle and yet overwhelming.

Gellert left one candle lit, and remained mostly wakeful by choice. He knew his own nightmares that were waiting, and it was his job to be strong that night. Privately, he was immune to the sense of serenity Albus seemed to gain from his presence. Guilt and fear reigned openly in his mind, but he refused to let it show.

What had he done? Even more, what was he _going _to do?

These and other questions consumed him, and the dark hours passed over him like water over a stone, almost unnoticed. After a dark, silent and troubled eternity, dawn began to make its presence known in the sky.

The squawk of a floorboard was heard in the hall. Footsteps light as spring snow crept up the hall, the hinges of Albus's bedroom door squeaked quietly as it was opened just a crack, and the glimmer of a bright blue eye shone through. Albus had been much too fatigued and troubled to activate the locking spell on his door, and now his sister was taking guilty advantage.

Ariana snapped the door shut immediately as soon as she saw that Gellert was not only awake, but looking directly at her. He smiled in spite of himself as her footsteps made a hasty retreat back down the hall. He glanced at Albus, fast asleep as he had been for hours now, and Gellert doubted his presence made much difference at this point. He rose and went in pursuit of the younger Dumbledore sibling.

.

.

"I wasn't trying to spy." She insisted at once when he pushed her own bedroom door open. "He's just been so…I want to check on him is all."

"I figured as much. No need to explain yourself." He smiled, but she didn't miss the dark circles under his eyes.

"Come on." She patted the mattress next to her. Only when he was seated beside her did she ask, "What happened?"

Gellert's eyes fell away from hers, seeking refuge in the approximate area of her knee.

"…You know how I told you that I was at war with the world?"

"Yes." She noted that his posture was bowed, as though carrying a weight too heavy for his years.

"Well, he doesn't want me to be anymore."

She nodded once, slowly. "And is that what you want?"

"What I want…" He smiled bleakly. "What I want is to be here with him and you, and never have to give a thought to anything else." A pause, then, quietly, "But I'm not sure I can do that."

"Ah, yes. What we want isn't always what we're capable of."

"You understand." The words caught in his throat. Why did the tears threaten now, when he'd been dry-eyed in the face of this disaster for so long? "I want to be what he wants…" He bit his lip.

"I know." She smiled ruefully. "Believe me, I know."

"I don't want to just lead him on. Pretend to be what he wants me to, when I know the façade is bound to crumble."

"Do you know that for sure?"

"No. How could I?"

"Then you're not lying. You're trying. And if you're not sure you'll succeed then, well, that comes with the territory."

He raised his eyes to hers again, finally. "How can you know all this, young as you are?"

"I'm not that much younger than you are."

"True. We're both just kids, I forget that sometimes. I've never felt young, not for as long as I can remember." He sighed. "If you know so much, then tell me this: who will fight, if I don't? If I do not wage war for my cause, who can be expected to do it in my place?"

"Does anyone need to wage war? Abe says my father is justified in what he did to those muggles. The law might even have said so, if it could have considered all the facts. But I don't care if they're alive or dead. I wouldn't care if the boys who hurt me were princes in a palace, if it meant that I could have my father back. Even the most horrible person's death isn't worth your life, Gel. Not to me."

That did it; broke the dam and made his tears flow in earnest. They were silent yet no less bitter for it. She reached out to him, took him in her arms as he had the night they met.

She had reached him in a way that her brother could not, not because Gellert loved Albus any less, but because Ariana was ultimately more similar to him – similar enough to identify, and yet so profoundly different in one way: while he had let hatred define him, she had risen above it. She had succeeded in loving more than hating: the father that she had lost, above the ones who had caused her to loose him.

He could only wonder how anyone could have so much forgiveness in them.

And what was all his power, in light of that? His hatred, his flag of war and defiance of fate, was falling. And was he strong enough to face the world without it? Was he strong enough to do what she had, to disarm himself of all his malice, with only the hope that he could learn to forgive as well as she did?

All his power, and he was _nothing _compared to her.

After the anger, there was only acceptance. That was the hardest part of all. Even if he made peace with his own past, how could he possibly come to terms with what had happened to her? It went entirely against his nature. And yet, that was the only thing he could do. There was nothing he could do for her. No vengeance that her father had left undone, or if there was it was beyond him to do. There was nothing to be done except…be there. Stay with her.

How could the thing he wanted most in the world seem so difficult?

Beneath it all was wonder, that anyone could see so much value in him.

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(A/N: I've entertained some doubts with this whole story arc: Mr. Weaver and the death and whatnot - after all, it's a large departure from cannon, even as minimal as that cannon is in this case. I went ahead with it for two reasons: one, because I don't think a relationship can truthfully be called 'love' until both parties have undergone at least one major fight in which their faith in one another is seriously shaken, and yet they manage to persevere in the end. Second, I felt I should have Albus see point-blank the kind of things Gellert is capable of, and have him accept Gellert regardless. You know, as if he needed yet another thing to haunt him where Gellert is concerned -_-'

Random: I have a fair amount of songs for this pairing, but the main one is Snuff by Slipknot, to the point where I cannot listen to that song unless I'm prepared to go on a Grindledore tangent like a crack-addict straight out of court-ordered rehab. *weird joke is weird*

I'll need to finish this in a few chapters. Damn it.)


	27. Chapter 27

Albus woke at ten thirty, unprecedentedly late for him. By that time, Gellert had long since returned to his bed and to sleep.

Albus smiled at the sight, although it was a bittersweet joy; the memory of his love's absence was still so close and sharp. The whole incident of the last few days still gnawed at him, but he resolutely put it out of his mind. The only thing he could do now was go forward.

With that thought, he dressed and went down stairs to make breakfast. He didn't know if it was his turn or not; even if it was, Ariana and Aberforth would have eaten hours ago now. The tumult of the last few days had wreaked such havoc with him, throwing his sense of obligation and even personal well-being to the wind; he had neither cooked for his family when it was his job to do so, nor eaten much of anything himself.

_Alright, just another thing to move forward from_, he assured himself. Things could only get better from here, right?

That question was answered when Aberforth entered the kitchen, saw his brother, frowned, and remarked,

"Seeing as you're with the living again, I take it to mean he's back." His tone suggested their town was beset with the plague.

Albus forced himself to focus on the jam he was spreading on a piece of toast as thought it were highly fascinating. "Can't you be…if not happy, at least acceptant, for my sake?"

_Maybe I'm unhappy for your sake_, Aberforth's thoughts raged_, ever thought of that? But you wouldn't. I'm only selfish in your eyes, only a nuisance. Well, so be it. _

"I should be so grateful," Aberforth began, "to see my family swindled by that –"

Albus slammed the knife he had been dolling out jam with down onto the counter, turning to face his brother with harsh eyes. His nerves were already frayed to the core; he had no more patience left.

"You're crossing a line. I've tried very hard to take your attitude in stride, but I've _had _it. If your behavior towards him doesn't improve, there will be trouble between you and me."

Aberforth didn't waiver at the anger that would have made anyone else, even Gellert, quake in their boots.

"He is the trouble." Aberforth slapped down the torn pieces of newspaper that had been left on the table days before, and took deep satisfaction at the way his brother's eyes widened in shock.

"You must think I'm stupid." Aberforth continued. "And that's fine, because I think you're an idiot, so it balances out. But I know foul play when I see it. Now, I don't give a damn what happened to your boss, but I do care what happens in this house. So I'm warning _you_: either he makes himself scarce around here from now on, or –"

"Or what, you'll call the ministry?" Albus's voice was cold. "Do it. He won't go to Azkaban, _I _will. I'll confess, and no one would question it. Not a bad deal for you, I dare say. But ask yourself this: if that happens, when I'm gone…what do you suppose he would do to you?"

Aberforth would never admit, even to himself, what that did to him. To have his brother put him last, that was a reality to Aberforth. Yet to have Albus step aside, to allow, even to _invite _harm to be done to him…

Just when had his _real _big brother died? Long ago, so long ago…

"Threatening me now?" Aberforth said, gruffly. "He's rubbing off on you."

"It's not a threat. It's a warning."

"And you're siding with him, over your own family?"

It wasn't really a question, just a parting barb to make Albus feel any sort of remorse for what he was doing.

"He is not the one threatening to have you locked up in Azkaban because the two of you don't get along."

"I'm not the one who killed someone, am I?"

"Who's killed anyone?" Albus asked, voice deceptively light.

Ariana chose that moment to interrupt the standoff between her brothers. One look at their faces, and her own face fell.

"What are you arguing about _now_?"

"Nothing." Albus said, shooting a warning look at his brother before leaving the kitchen.

.

.

Gellert was awakened by the sound of the door slamming – that, and the very air in the room seemed to be thrown into chaos with the almost palpable waves of anger Albus now radiated.

He stood at the window with his back to Gellert, but even the way he carried himself, back rigid and fists clenched, broadcasted trouble loud and clear to Gellert's perception.

"What's wrong?" He didn't like seeing Albus like this; it set his stomach to knots, particularly in the wake of their all-too-recent fight.

"It seems," Albus said without turning. "As though I can't leave my room nowadays without facing some kind of crushing dilemma."

His voice, at least, was not overtly angry, just deeply troubled.

Gellert slid out of bed, walked the short distance to the window and slipped his arms around Albus from behind, silently willing the tension out of his frame.

"I hope, at least, it's not my fault this time."

Albus turned, pulling Gellert close to him and holding on as tightly as he could, short of pain. But what had seemed to Albus so powerfully enveloping the night before now seemed like a Fabergé eggshell around this most precious core; vital and so terrifyingly fragile. He hated his brother for what he had threatened to do, hated himself even _more_ for how he had responded, hated Gellert for putting them in this situation to begin with...

"You're scaring me a little." Gellert said.

Albus was more than a little scared himself. But he loosened his hold and drew back slightly.

"It's…just fighting with Aberforth." He said, not technically lying. "Nothing to be scared of." _That_ was a flat-out lie. But he couldn't tell the truth. Although he had taken a hard line against his brother, Albus was far from prepared to step back and Gellert do…whatever he would do, to someone who threatened him with a life sentence in prison. That could drive anyone to a violent act.

It was also obvious to Gellert there was a lot more to it than what Albus was telling him. He had witnessed the two brothers fight constantly since day one; never had Albus seemed as angry as he did now.

"It's about me, isn't it? Because I'm back." Gellert didn't care what Aberforth thought of him, but if the conflict was affecting Albus this much…he was beginning to understand Ariana's guilt, the feeling of being the root of trouble for someone he cared about.

"…It's just…I don't want to go into it, just sibling stuff." Another lie. This was becoming a disturbing trend.

"You're afraid to tell me, aren't you." Gellert sighed and took a step back, looking at Albus with mournful eyes. "Afraid of what I might do to your brother."

"…Am I honestly remiss in that?" He was equally remorseful.

"I don't know. But you can't get by without being honest with me, our relationship would die."

"Am I to choose between our love and my brother?"

"No, no of course not." Gellert's voice was gentle in that way that made Albus melt. "I promise I won't…I won't do anything at all if you don't want me to. Just tell me what happened, alright? I promise."

"I…" It was easy to promise now, but if Gellert learned there was a life sentence for one of them hanging in the balance? "I-I'm not sure it would do any good to tell you anyway."

"Come on. If you don't tell me, I'll ask him, and I doubt he'd have any reservations."

"Please…"

"I won't _do_ anything. But you have to tell me, that much I insist on, or I'll find out some other way."

What choice did Albus have, in light of that? He wouldn't be protecting his brother if refusing to tell Gellert meant that he confronted Aberforth about the whole thing. That was in fact the worst scenario Albus could imagine.

"He's more astute than I gave him credit for, I fear…" Albus began.

Gellert's face showed no signs of murderous rage as the situation was explained to him, but that in and of itself was of little comfort. After all, he had been so calm, so soothing and placid in the wake of Albus being fired, only to turn around and commit such brutality…

"Clever." He said dryly, when Albus had finished. "I guess he is related to you after all."

"Figures his innate intelligence would choose to emerge now."

"When it _matters _to him, of course….But don't be afraid. Not of me, anyway. If it was anyone else threatening me with a life sentence in Azkaban, you can bet I'd uncoil their innards for them. But I won't do that, because you've asked me not to. I'll leave."

"You'll – what?"

"If I can't attack, I must retreat."

"No! No, you can't leave. We'll work through this together,, I'll think of some other way, I can't –"

"Slow down. I only meant leave this place; I never intend to leave _you_."

"If you love me, and still leave me…that's a very cold comfort."

"We're not talking forever."

"We are, though!" Albus was more distressed than before. "You've freed my mind, but circumstantially I'm as bound here as ever. To sit here, to see you go and live all your dreams – all _our_ dreams – to build you're life without me…I'd rather die that live like that." He smiled joylessly. "But it will have to happen sooner or later, won't it? You can't stay in Godrick's Hollow forever; it would be cruel of me to ask that of you, you'd be wasted here. You have to go, if not today then tomorrow, or the day after. And I have to stay."

"Don't be so fatalistic! The economy won't be in this state forever. The bank will let go of your family's money and then Ariana and the Brat will be able to live without your supplemental income."

"My family doesn't have that much in the bank – enough to live on for a few years, but what then? Besides, it's not just an issue of money. Much as Aberforth insists that she would be fine with only him, I don't…I _can't _just leave Ariana here, alone with just one person to be her entire world. It wouldn't be right."

"I see…I admit I hadn't looked at it that way. And we're dammed either way, because it would be little less cruel for either of us to stay here with her, if she knows or believes she's holding us back. The poor girl would go mad with guilt if we stay…"

"But mad with loneliness if we leave her."

"Yes." He sighed again. Then, something seemed to occur to him. He sat up, and looked at Albus with eyes that were bright with a spark of hope. "She could come with us."

"That…I'd give anything for that to be a possibility, but be reasonable. She's not strong enough for anything like that."

"No one is strong enough in the beginning, strength in what you get along the way. She's been sequestered in this house almost all her life. Has it helped her any? Living as she does now, have you ever seen that it aids her in growing past the trauma of her childhood?"

"No. But to go off on a lark…"

"I think she should be the one to decide. If she thinks she's capable, she should come with us. If not, we'll find another way."

"She's only fourteen."

"She's old enough to make decisions concerning her own welfare – she has to be, with her parents gone. What if the thing she needs the most is to take life in her own hands?"

"It…her psychological state has improved through her friendship with you, but what you're thinking about is levels of magnitude beyond what she could endure."

"It doesn't have to be immediate. We could work with her, help her to grow. I don't care if it would take a long time – I'd stay by her side as long as it took. Or you could, if Aberforth _insists _I leave at once. And then the two of you could join me, when she's ready."

"I…"

"Think about it. Has she ever had anything to hope for? Any goal around which to focus her life? It seems to me the only things that have defined her existence for a long time are shame and fear, little wonder than she struggles. But if she had an aspiration, something to strive for…who can say what would happen?"

"…We'll talk to her about it. I'm not saying I agree, but she should be included in our plans, whether or not she takes part in them. You're right at least as far as that she should have a hand in her own fate."

"Fair enough."

It was Albus's turn to sigh. "Everything's happening very quickly. We've had our reprieve, now life begins again."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, just…just a thing." He couldn't say what he was thinking. That even the most glorious and lofty aspirations for the future paled in comparison to the moment. He had mourned the world, his loss of it, when Elphias left and he had been forced to stay behind. And yet somehow the world, even the saving of it, was now of secondary importance to him.

He had everything he wanted right at his fingertips. Anything – _everything_ else seemed trivial.

But he knew that his love alone would never be enough for Gellert, never outweigh his dreams for the future. And why should it? Loving someone to the exclusion of the entire world was a rather selfish thing, which was another reason Albus didn't mention it.

Just as well. It made it that much easier to deny when, years later, that thought would haunt him.

.

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(I've stayed away from throwing in angsty references as to what eventually happens between them, but seeing as it's getting near the end it seemed like it could be appropriate. Also, I've realized that the end of this thing will probably fall smack-dab during the time when I need to be focusing on mid-terms. Ah, but what kind of muse would Gellert be if he didn't demand my attention at the most inopportune moments? -_-' Thanks for reading!)


	28. Chapter 28

(A/N: This is not the final chapter. I'm planning on the next one being the end, with maybe an epilogue or something to bring it to an even 30 - yes, I'm slightly OCD. I know it's been forever, I've had my reasons, which I will explain at the end of the chapter for whom it may concern. And a special thank you to Aimee, for all your wonderful help and feedback. I dedicate this chapter to you!)

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It was a day of celebration. The Goblins had settled on a new contract of cooperation with the Ministry of Magic, the finer points of which Bathtilda bored them with endlessly. She had returned from London early, bringing with her a bottle of champagne, a stack of party hats and festive intent, which almost proved disastrous for Albus and Gellert. Having had the house to themselves during the day and some nights as well, they didn't pay as much attention as perhaps they should have…

"Did you hear the door?"

"No. She's not due home for hours yet."

Gellert paused, listening. Was he imagining it, or was that a creek on the stairs…? A footfall in the hallway –

Albus abruptly found his world tipped upside down, when Gellert shoved him unceremoniously over the far side of the bed, opposite the door. Just in time, too, for not a moment later did the door bang open revealing a buoyant and, as always, oblivious Bathilda.

"Three guesses as to what I'm doing home at this hour!" She enthused, standing larger-than-life in the doorway.

_Aside from ruining my life? _It was a sentiment that, had they known it, passed through both boy's minds almost simultaneously.

"Uh – I…what?" Even Gellert wasn't too quick on the uptake in that situation.

She tutted. "Did you just wake up?"

"Yes." Gellert said quickly, for he had yanked the blankets over himself to hide his state of almost total undress. "So," he pressed, "good day at work?"

Had she been paying attention, she might have noticed that her grand-nephew's breath was a little too heavy, his face just slightly too flushed, for someone who had allegedly been sleeping, but true to form she didn't notice any of those things.

"Not a good day, the _best _day – we've moved heaven and earth, my boy. Everyone in the country has us to thank today!"

He got it, finally. "The goblin strike. They've finally opened the bank again." For the first time since – scratch that, for the first _time_, he genuinely shared her enthusiasm.

"Right you are, sleepyhead. Now, get up and dressed. I'm going next door to invite them for a bit of a celebration."

She turned on her heel and bounced off down the hall. Gellert threw the blankets off himself and leaned over the far side of the bed where Albus now sat, rubbing his head where it had made abrupt contact with the floor.

"If your skull's not cracked you'd better get up. You'll want to get to your house before she does."

Albus swore, replacing his scattered clothes hurriedly. Apparation might have been an option, but his mind was nowhere near focused enough for it to be safe, and the last thing he needed was to splinch himself between Bathtilda's house and his own. So he dashed down the hallway Bathtilda had disappeared down moments before. He heard the front door slam, so he rushed out the back. He ran through her backyard, hoisted himself awkwardly over the fence that separated the two houses, and burst through the back door of his own house.

He arrived inside just in time to hear the front door open, and Bathtilda's voice in conversation with his brother's.

"Last time I checked," Aberforth was saying, "my brother was –"

"Here. I'm right here." Albus rushed up to the door, trying not to gasp as though he just ran a marathon. "So, you seem to be home from work early, Miss Bagshot."

Jumping at the segue he provided, she reiterated the news that he had heard moments before, and he made sure to act duly surprised and excited.

"Anyway, I just wanted to invite you and your brother over for a bit of festivities. And of course your sister can come too if she wants." Her voice lowered slightly when talking about Ariana, as though she was mentioning something shameful. "I know how tight things have been for you kids lately. I think a spot of celebration is just what you need."

They eventually managed to pry Bathtilda off their doorstep with the promise that they would be right over, possibly with Ariana tow. As soon as the door shut, Aberforth shot his brother a fathomless look.

"Your shirt is buttoned wrong." His voice was dry as the Sahara.

.

Ariana, surprisingly, had chosen to join them. Once inside Bathtilda's house, however, she noticeably withered, shrinking into herself as though walking into a dungeon rather than the house of a family friend.

Gellert went to stand beside her, leaning down and whispering something for her ears only. At the same time, Bathtilda pressed a glass of champagne into Albus's hand, already talking animatedly. He listened with half an ear, watching Ariana and Gellert over Bathtilda's shoulder. From the way his sister giggled, and the motion Gellert made with his arms, as though _pushing_ something, Albus assumed that she was hearing the story of their near-discovery.

He smiled into his glass, letting Bathtilda assume it was in response to her story about the ornery goblin matriarch from Wales whom she had told off in one of their many negotiations.

Aberforth was watching the exchange too, but he wasn't smiling. As Ariana and Gellert disappeared into the kitchen, he felt as though a brick had lodged in his stomach. How long would it take, Aberforth wondered, before that interloper turned _both _his siblings against him?

Other witches and wizards of the neighborhood arrived here and there. Elderly Mr. and Mrs. Preeny from across the street, who seemed nice enough but had a long-running grudge against Aberforth that began when his goats had eaten their flowerbed. Aberforth had responded with his usual diplomacy, and to this day there were not on friendly terms.

Next came the somewhat less elderly Smeeks. Mr. Smeek apparently knew Bathtilda from the ministry, and they had a good time comparing notes and trading war stories concerning the recent upheaval. They brought their daughter Enid, who was two years younger than Albus and had once taken a fancy to him, years ago. At the moment she seemed more interested in Gellert, watching him very closely as he came and went from the kitchen. He and Ariana seemed to have taken over the issue of food, as the adults chattered and laughed ever more loudly as more champagne was poured.

Bathtilda was in her element, as she told and retold and re-retold all of her favorite anecdotes surrounding the strike and recent resolution. Even Aberforth had been willing to put up with it for once, happy as they all were to have access to their family's bank account once more.

After a few hours, though, he'd had all that he could stand. Honestly, these people called _him_ uncivilized…

He stepped out onto the porch. It was quiet out there, aside from a few crickets chirping. The sun had set, although its light had not left the sky, and the oppressive heat of the day had waned to a comfortably mellow warmth.

He heard the door creek open behind him, and his mood was ruined entirely when he turned to see Gellert emerge from it.

"What d'you want?" He snapped.

"I just want you to know that you've won." His voice was calm, but his eyes shone with cold malice. "I've succumbed to your game of blackmail, and am leaving. Are you happy, now that you've gotten your own way?"

"Yeah." Aberforth said resolutely. "Yeah, it feels pretty damn awesome."

In reality, he hated the role he had taken onto himself. The brat, the meddler, the _problem_. He would be dammed, though, if he let Gellert see that.

Gellert turned to leave, but paused on the threshold, looking back at Abeforth over his shoulder.

"Just so you know, you would be dead now if your brother didn't love you."

His voice held no anger. It almost came across as some kind of sick, twisted complement.

Then he vanished inside, and Aberforth stared at the spot he had just occupied long afterwards. He no longer felt the pleasant warmth of the evening, nor saw the colors of sunset.

He wasn't one to be afraid easily, Griffindore that he was. And yet…to look someone in the eye and see such utter disregard for the taking of life, as though it were so much troublesome garbage…Aberforth shuddered. What did his brother see in that…that monster?

"All the more reason for forcing him out." He said, to no one, for who could he possibly talk to about this? Gellert had so neatly cut him off from both his siblings. Maybe someday, Aberforth hoped, they would understand he was doing it for them.

Until then, he would just have to bear being seen as the selfish one, the one that had to 'have his own way'.

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Back inside, Bathtilda had taken out her camera to memorialize the occasion, and Mr. Smeek was demonstrating how he could juggle various objects including plates from the table.

Albus saw Gellert coming back inside from the porch, and quickly went to meet him.

"I'd forgotten just how tedious everyone around here is." He intoned, offering a glass of champagne to Gellert, who took it and downed it in one gulp.

"Tedious is putting it kindly. I'll give it half an hour before someone vomits and I'll probably be the one to clean it up."

"Lets get Ariana and leave then. How's she doing anyway?"

"She's fine; no one's been going in the kitchen. How's you're head?"

"About as could be expected."

"Sorry."

"My own damn fault for not hearing the door." Albus said in a low voice. Then, even more quietly, "Although now that you mention it, there's another region that's been troubling me…"

"Poor darling." Gellert said, his smile turning wicked. "Shall I kiss it better?"

Albus choked on his champagne, and Gellert laughed uproariously. Both of them were still laughing when Bathtilda snapped a picture, freezing the moment in time. She might have taken more, but from the other room there came what was unmistakably the sound of plates shattering, and she scurried away again in a state of frenzy.

The diversion allowed Albus and Gellert to slip away, back into the kitchen where Ariana was dutifully washing dishes.

"Assuming you're not enraptured with Miss Bagshot's crockery," Albus said, "I suggest we return home. Before she brings that camera nonsense in here."

"She's not going to photograph _me_." Ariana rolled her eyes. "She probably thinks the camera flash with frighten me into a stampede or something."

"A one girl stampede?"

"Yes. Speaking of which, have you seen Abe around?"

"Saw him on the porch a while ago." Gellert commented. "Don't think he came back in."

"Probably in the barn." Albus said with a shrug.

"Let's discuss his whereabouts later." Gellert said. "I want to leave now before someone overindulges all over the carpet. Come on."

.

"There's something your brother and I wanted to discuss with you." Gellert said, once they were outside.

"What, are you getting married?" It wasn't quite a joke.

Both boys smiled, but it was fleeting.

"Something of the opposite, actually. While I do love both of you very much, I don't intend to stay in Godrick's Hollow forever. There are things to do and a life I want to lead away from here."

Ariana's face looked exactly how Albus felt when faced with the same prospect.

Gellert held up his hand, as if silencing any dissent in advance. "However, I'm not leaving either of you. It's my hope that Albus can join me in my travels and, eventually, that you can as well."

Her eyes widened in shock.

"I know the prospect seems daunting," Gellert continued, "But –"

"_Daunting?" _Ariana no longer looked surprised and sad. She seemed almost…angry. "I thought you understood! If we…if I…people would die. I'd give anything for it to be possible, but it's not, and you're cruel for suggesting it."

"You forget who you're talking to." He said softly.

"You got over it. I never have."

"Doesn't mean you can't. You probably don't feel like it, but you are very young still. Too young to have your fate already sealed."

She shook her head. "The two of you should just go. Leave me here, never look back. I'm tired of being a burden."

"Ariana." It was Albus now who spoke, and he was stern. "You are not a burden to anyone but yourself."

"And what happens when I let you down?" She shot back. "When I'm the one weak link in your perfect life?"

"You think my life is perfect?" Gellert asked, arching a brow.

"You know what I mean."

"You don't know what _I _mean. I want to help you because you and your brother have already helped me so much, not some sense of empty obligation. And if you truly can't live in the world as all three of us would like, that's me letting _you _down, when I can't repay you for all you've done."

She turned to Albus. "And what do you think?"

"He speaks for both of us in this." Albus only wished he could do more of the speaking. Why must he always feel so distant from his sister? But that would change, he told himself. They would grow together, just as they had grown apart.

"…I'll think on it." She paused, then, "I don't suppose you've discussed it with Abe?"

"Do I look like I've had the living snot beaten out of me?" Albus countered, smiling wryly.

"Let me. He'll take it better if he hears it from me."

"Why do we need to involve him in the discussion at this point?" Gellert asked. "Maybe I'm just a heartless bastard, but he seems likely to be more hinderance than help."

"You're not wrong." Ariana said. "But it will only get worse the longer we keep him in the dark about it. Best to be up front, even if it's daunting."

"I still don't think - " Gellert persisted, but Albus cut him off.

"If she wants to talk to him about it now then that's up to her. And I'd trust her to know how to deal with him better than either of us."

Gellert still looked unconvinced, but merely shrugged. "If he does anything violent towards you, be warned that I'll - "

"I can take care of myself, thank you. I was only kidding."

"Just don't say I didn't warn you."

"No one will be violent towards anyone." Ariana insisted. "I'll see to that." Quickly, as though on a sudden impulse, she stepped forward and pulled both of them into a tight embrace. It was a fond memory for Albus, regardless of all that came later, holding the two people he loved most in the world close to him.

"I think he'll be in the barn at this hour." She said, pulling away. "I'll go see him now. Don't worry."

.

Back inside and upstairs, as soon as the bedroom door closed, they wasted no time in picking up where they had left off earlier that morning, setting on each other with all the pent up fervor of the mercilessly dull intervening hours. And so, unknowingly, the spent their last night as lovers.

.

Hours later, after they were both utterly spent, they lay in each others arms, basking in the peaceful silence when not a thing more needs to be said.

Gellert, however, wasn't one to be silent or peaceful for very long.

"You feel like sleeping?" He asked, glancing up at Albus.

"Not necessarily. Something on your mind?"

"Yes…" He raised himself up on his elbows, resting his chin on one hand, regarding his partner though half-lidded eyes. "You don't have to answer now, but eventually…you'll have to tell me how you would change the world, since you dislike my methods so. How do you see it all happening if not by bloody revolution?"

At the moment, Albus was a bit sorry to have to think about anything outside the two of them, but his answer nonetheless came easily.

"I would have us lead by example." The thought had been prominent in his mind since their falling out. "Create a place, however small, where we could live according to our ideals – no more secrets between muggles and wizards, no more hatred over petty differences. A place where people are judged for who they are, not what they are, a place of peace for the ones that don't fit in anywhere else."

"What place would that be?"

"I don't know. Do the details matter at this point? With your power and mine, combined with the use of the Hallows, it wouldn't be so hard to find a small corner of the world to call our own."

"And we'd bring justice only to one small corner?"

"That is only where we would begin. Once people saw living proof of what we believed in, and what kind of utopia those beliefs had created, they would flock to our cause in multitudes. Who wouldn't want to live by those ideals, once they were actualized?"

"Few enough, I would think. But I can't imagine it being that simple."

"Of course not. In any society there would be those who would want to create turmoil for whatever reason."

"Like me." He smiled, but his voice was bitter.

"You fight to change this world because you see no other alternative. If you had a choice, wouldn't you rather live in peace?"

"Of course."

"As would I. We would be giving people that chance, the chance to live in peace, with themselves and others. We'd face opposition of course, particularly if – well, when – we wanted to include non-magic people."

"Governments everywhere would shit themselves. That's where the real fight will be."

"The real fight will be every day, on every level. You're not the only one who recognizes the paradox that you have to fight for peace."

"…I like it." Gellert said after some consideration. "A take-it-or-leave-it kind of situation. If you don't agree with the way we do things, fine, have fun with the raging cesspool that is the rest of the world."

"We wouldn't need to exterminate those who disagreed; they would leave us of their own accord, and our doors would always be open to those in need of refuge."

"Sounds like the church." Gellert said with a slight frown.

"It's…similar to some religious institutions in theory," Albus said, treading carefully, "Except that instead of a divine entity we simply honor notions of equality and peace."

Gellert nodded, thoughtful. "The same ideals the church upholds in theory, and yet the motives behind organized religion have for too long been simply about gaining political power. But you and I aren't looking for power; we're looking for a way to use the power we already have."

"Exactly."

"What about the rest of the world though? Outside of our own sphere of influence?"

"Our influence would spread to every corner of the world. Every person who saw our ideals realized would see the truth in our beliefs. And if their lives were made better by them…they would take those ideals with them wherever they went. What we need to give people, above all things, is hope that a better world is possible. Once they see that, they'll work at our side to actualize that hope. It's not a new concept by any means – as you said, most religions believe in similar goals. But no one has more power to follow through on this idea than you and me."

_Hope_…it was only then that Gellert realized he'd never functioned on the basis of hope for a new world, only on hate for the one he knew. So blinded by the filth and darkness that infected his mind, he saw only the things he would destroy and yet had never, until now, seen so clearly the better world he was striving for.

"The two of us, together, could go further down that road than anyone else could even dream of." Gellert smiled, a bit ruefully. "If I didn't love you, I might just hate you for that."

"What? Why?"

"After everything, it seems like _I_ might be the one following you. If it was anyone else, I'd be furious."

"No one has to lead or follow anyone. We'll move forward side by side."

"Although," Gellert laughed, adding humor to what was otherwise an incredibly earnest moment, "we'll probably have to attend countless more boring parties."

"A necessary evil I suppose, although in future you might avoid making sexual overtures while I'm drinking something."

"But you're so endearing with champagne coming out your nose. Besides," he smiled lasciviously, "you can't say I wasn't as good as my word."

.

Gellert fell asleep soon afterward. Albus, though equally exhausted, forced himself to deny slumber for a time, simply watching his love's resting face. If Gellert really would be leaving soon, Albus had to take in every last moment. Sleep was nothing compared to that, to this time together.

"Could you ever forgive me?" He whispered, reaching out and coiling a blond lock around his forefinger with utmost care. "I'm so selfish. I don't want the world to exist, if it comes between us. I want only you, nothing and no one else." Even though he knew no one was watching, he bit his tongue to fight down the stinging in his eyes. "I could never admit that to you."

.

.

(A/N So, making a long story short, my father had a stroke which left him paralyzed on his left side. I'll save the drama for the characters; put simply, I haven't had the emotional energy necessary to complete a new chapter until now. Not for lack of trying, mind. I've been working on this chapter for so long I'm thoroughly glad to be rid of it. It's very long, because I felt there were so many loose ends to tie up in order to set the scene for tomorrow. As for when I'll get about to writing the next one...I will try. Full course load + work = not much time for characters, but I will try to get it done, because writing above all else is what makes me happy.

On another note, beyond the small events of my own life, I've been giving a lot of thought lately to the future of our kind on this planet. Perhaps some would say it's not appropriate here, but as this computer, these characters, and this author happen to be located on the earth, I think it is quite fitting. One person doing the right thing by our lovely world might seem insignificant, but 6.5 (or however the hell many) billion people doing the right thing is a force beyond reckoning. I don't have the power of Gellert Grindelwald, to sway multitudes to a cause I believe is worthwhile; all I have are these words. Ideas are dynamic, and have a way of spreading like wildfire, I want to do my part in spreading this one: we're nothing without the earth. We might forget that from time to time, with our cars and our houses, our climate control and pre-processed foods. We tend to forget, and we cannot afford to. What are you going to do for the earth today? Thanks for reading!)


	29. Chapter 29

(A/N: A few announcements: To begin with, this is raw, so expect typos. Also, I changed the previous chapter slightly, so it might be worth a quick once-over. It shouldn't matter very much. And expect something of an epilogue. Finally, as always, thank you for reading.)

.

The day became a series of lasts in Albus's memory. Seven o'clock he woke out of habit; the last time he was so tired and yet so content upon waking.

They had fallen asleep still loosely intertwined; indeed, Albus's bed was not wide enough to maintain any great degree of personal distance, and the morning found them still curled in a loose embrace.

It was not, in fact, the last time Albus would wake in the arms of another; simply the last time his heart would not be haunted with doubt and remorse upon waking. The last time he could think only of the person he was with, the last time he felt that he _belonged _to and with that person. It was certainly not the last Gellert was the first thing he thought about upon waking, merely the last time he wouldn't feel sick with guilt about it.

The boy in question was still sleeping deeply. Albus thought that he looked…carefree, in slumber; free of the sharp focus and subtly crafted defenses that usually characterized him. It was possible, for once, to imagine that he was _only _a seventeen-year-old boy, no blood on his hands or darkness in his past. The last time Albus indulged himself in forgetting those things about Gellert.

The usual giddy, fluttery sensation filled him. _Mine_. He affixed upon the word, repeated it over in his mind like a spell of vital importance. _Mine, mine_.

His to touch, if he so chose. To nudge awake and pull closer, to whisper sweet nothings to, to kiss and caress and…

…he wouldn't do any of that, at least not at the moment. Just the knowledge that he could was enough.

He stayed there for a long while, not moving, not thinking about anything except how it made him feel. Breakfast wasn't his responsibility that day, nor did he have work to consider. Even back then, he would have been content to live in that moment forever.

Eventually, however, he was compelled by the impetus to get up and begin the day that would be his ruin. Blissfully unaware, he gently untangled his limbs from Gellert's, making every effort not to wake him.

As he passed out of his room and down the hall to the upstairs bathroom, he heard his siblings downstairs, assumedly in the process of preparing breakfast. The last time he would ever hear his sister's voice engaged in conversation with his brother's.

.

In the bathroom, he ran a hot shower and disrobed, smiling slightly as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, for several love bites adorned his neck. Barely had the hot water washed over him than the bathroom door creaked open and then shut again, and Gellert slipped through the curtain and into the shower with him.

The last, and first, time someone did that.

"What would you have done if it were my brother in here?" Albus asked, supressing a laugh.

"Not this." Gellert said, stepping closer and -

.

Once dressed and dry, they made their way downstairs. Albus had been looking forward to food and family, but once downstairs Ariana and breakfast were nowhere to be found. Only Aberforth waited for them in the kitchen, and the look on his face filled Albus with dread. Beside him, he could almost feel Gellert tense up, as though they were still skin to skin.

For a moment, none of them spoke. Then,

"Arianna told me some…interesting things last night." The look in Aberforth's eyes was remarkably like…hatred. "You will not take her."

"You cannot simply forbid me. I do have some say in –"

"You are not qualified to have a say in anything to do with her! If you were, you'd know she's not fit for what you want! All these years, you've done nothing more than deny your responsibility, and you're still –"

"I'm not trying to deny her! I care about her too. I want to help her."

"Yeah, you care about her so much you've never spent a second with her if you didn't have to!"

"That's in the past. I didn't…I wasn't the brother I should've been, but its different now."

"Oh it's different alright. Now instead of ignoring her you're actively trying to harm her! I thought I'd seen the worst of you when you abandoned us in favor of–"

"Don't you dare–!" Gellert interrupted.

"This is between family!" Aberforth interrupted.

"He is family!" Albus interrupted.

"If he is than I'm not!"

"What about Ariana then?" Albus said. "She's still family to both of us."

"After everything our mother did to protect her, you'll have to kill me before I'll let you harm her!"

"Maybe staying cloistered in here is what's harming her!" Gellert snapped. "How do you think it is for her, to live in isolation with guilt and shame as her only companions?"

"I'm her companion, I always have been! We're family – we're enough for one another! _He _wouldn't understand! Neither of you would!"

"Maybe she wants more than that." Albus said.

"I wouldn't trust her to know what she wants, with that snake hissing lies in her ear!" Aberforth pointed at Gellert.

"Is it a lie, to say that she can hope for more in life than this?" Albus demanded.

"This isn't about her hopes! This isn't about _her_ future! This is about what you want, just like it always is, and your own family is the ones who pay the price, just like we always are! Just go, and take your snake with you – we've been better off without you all along!"

That did it. That was what pushed Gellert over the edge. He no longer cared to reach an agreement, or even to do whatever he wanted regardless of what Aberforth wished. No. Now his intentions were explicitly to harm, whether it was by words or by wand. He would make Aberforth suffer; leave him wounded and broken and _silent_.

"You hide behind your sister like a cowardly dog – you need Ariana far more than she needs you! She's your excuse for being the sniveling brat you are, and you can't stand that we might take that away from you!"

It was around that time which Albus realized both of them were out of control.

"Shut your venomous mouth! You think you understand her? After knowing her less than a month, you fucking arrogant prick! You don't know her and I don't believe for one moment that you care about her!"

"Does it cost your ego so much, that your sister has any love for a person outside yourself?" Gellert was no longer shouting. It might have seemed as though he was trying to take their anger down a notch, except for his eyes. Both Aberforth and Albus would be haunted by the memory of them: so cold and hard they might have been inhuman. "For the love of all things decent, your fixation on Ariana borders on incestuous."

That was the last straw for Aberforth – to have his love for his sister degraded, mocked, by this manipulating traitor. It was too much to bear, and now Albus was on Gellert's side, and Ariana would soon be as well, and Aberforth was losing the only fragment of family that he had, that he had tried so hard to hold onto…

In all the years after that moment, Albus would wonder, endlessly, what would have happened had Aberforth not drawn his wand. He did not hold his brother accountable for how things turned out, for it was clear to Albus that Gellert had intended to provoke his brother. Nonetheless, his mind never tired of working through ways that it all might have gone differently. What he could have said, what he could have done. What wouldn't he give, for a chance to do that moment over?

Aberforth drew his wand first, but Gellert, quick as the striking snake that Aberforth had named him, who had been waiting for Aberforth to do exactly that, brought his own wand to bear a split second sooner.

"_Crucio!"_

And Aberforth was on the floor, screaming, and the sound ripped through Albus like a hundred knives, leaving him frozen for a moment in unthinking horror. Gellert's face was twisted into a snarl of rage and hatred. It did something irrevocable to Albus, to see what was left when all love and warmth had been ripped away – to see what Gellert was, when he was just a killer.

Moving out of instinct, he grabbed Gellert's arm, wrenching his wand, and his attention, away from Aberforth and the torture curse. Albus opened his mouth to say something; even he didn't know exactly what, and neither of them got the chance to find out, because at that moment Aberforth responded with a curse of his own.

Albus would never know if Aberforth had been aiming for Gellert and, still half-blinded by the pain of the cruciatus curse, hit both of them by accident, or if he was aiming for both of them deliberately. Whatever the intention, Albus was half between Gellert and Aberforth, and Aberforth's attack caught both of them.

The force behind the spell would have been lethal, had it been clear and focused. But as it was, Aberforth was wild in rage, and so the impact was spread out, knocking both of them backwards like a child might toss a doll.

Albus hit the table and saw stars. Later, he would discover that he had fractured his left wrist and sustained numerous cuts and bruises, but he would not even feel the pain of them until later. In panic his mind had no attention to spare for the state of his body.

Aberforth shot another hex, but Gellert was already on his feet again, and their curses collided in mid-air with a crack and sizzle like grease on a grill, but barely had the sound faded than Gellert loosed another curse, and it was deflected, this time by Albus; the spells did not clash head-on, but spoiled one another's trajectory, veering off-course and blasting a hole in the wall.

Although Aberforth was never in the same league as his brother, never let it be said that he was lacking power – in fact, he was _all_ power, for it was raw magical potential he and Albus shared through blood. It was knowledge and control that Albus had, and Aberforth lacked. He was a blindly swinging battering ram, while Gellert was a poisoned needle. Gellert was easily as out of control as Aberforth, perhaps more so, but even in that loss of control he was not blind or any less calculating. The opposite was true; his focus had narrowed like a predator's tunnel vision, fixed on its prey. The only reason Gellert had not already won was that Albus interfered with each attack.

For his part, Albus couldn't risk disarming Aberforth or Gellert, for fear that the other would take that opening and do something horrible. He had to settle for interfering when he could, and even shielding one or the other when necessary. And neither could they turn their focus onto him, lest they be distracted from their primary adversary.

The atmosphere was confounded with smoke and sparks, flames had leapt up in several places, scorching the walls black, and now and again Albus was forced to turn his attention to the blaze, lest it consume all of them. And yet everything had gotten much colder. Their breath was coming in pale clouds, and frost was forming on the windows, even as smoke filled the air.

How long did it last? Seconds? A minute? Certainly not more than two. The longest moments of Albus's life.

.

From her place upstairs, Arianna was disturbed by the sounds of shouting from below. This was to be expected. She had braced herself for it, the inevitable confrontation that would occur. Aberforth was just like that, stubborn and unbending. He would agree, eventually, but damn if he wouldn't make it all hell for Albus in the meantime. She had told herself that Albus could handle that. Now, she was forced to admit that she had been fooling herself. She should not have left them alone to come to this.

Although she was terrified at the thought of their fighting, she knew she had to intervene. Climbing to her feet, she made her way to the stairs, but before she reached them the sounds changed. She froze. Shouts had given way to crashes and bangs, _explosions. _

They were fighting. Not just arguing, but _fighting_. The three people she loved most in the world were at each other's throats.

Because. Of. Her.

She wanted to run away, but she was running towards them instead. She wanted to hide, but her magic was flowing out from her, unfolding like unseen wings. She took the stairs two at a time without knowing it. The door flung open of its own accord. Her mind was focused and yet absent, torn between love and fear so deep it cut to the very core of her.

Her magic, wild and raw and _powerful_, met and mingled with the others. Suddenly the flames leapt upwards in towers of scorching heat, even as the frost shot up and out into icicles sharp as swords and taller than any of them. Albus was burning, or freezing, for heat and cold are indistinguishable from one another at high enough intensities. He heard a scream, or maybe several, and a crack of shattering ice and an explosion that rocked the foundation of the house and battered him to the ground in the fallout.

Then, as quickly as letting out a breath, the fire died and the ice melted.

He was a surprised to be alive. Astounded that he could still feel all his limbs attached to his body, that he could still see and hear and smell, even if the only smell was the acrid after-smoke of things no longer burning.

Close on the heels of his realization of life was the terror for those who might not be. All this, in an instant, and suddenly he wished he hadn't opened his eyes again, that the last, inexplicable impact had thrown him down, never to rise again. Because although his mind had not yet caught up to the situation, his heart was telling him loud and clear that everything, everything was so wrong…

He heard the sound of someone shifting, another body moving through the wreckage, no way to know who through the smoke. In retrospect, he will know that it is Gellert moving, that Aberforth is still lying stunned, and Arianna...

Gellert saw what had happened before any of them. There was a strangled half-scream, half sob, bit back almost before it existed. If despair had had a voice, that is what it would have sounded like. It was like the anvil crashing down on the mallet, the affirmation Albus didn't need, that _yes,_ _something is terribly wrong_.

The smoke was clearing now, and for a moment, their eyes met through the smoke and vapors. Gellert's eyes were wide, terrified, in a face that had gone almost bloodless. Then he turned, and his footsteps were a desperate clatter receding from the room, fast. Their front door opened, shut. Then silence.

Very rarely, he wondered what would have happened if he had tried to stop Gellert from leaving, but it wasn't a thought he dwelt on. He knew, had known even back then, that there was no way to reconcile what had just happened. No way to make it alright.


End file.
